#I had to talk myself out of fabric for two other quilts

[attemptingwriter]

Alec Volturi x human!Reader: Anniversary Quilt

Warnings: little bit of angst, mostly fluff, non-canon aged Alec, sfw, use of y/n

I walked down the hall of the castle, heading for the library. I had finished the small stack of books in my room and wanted to return them to get some more. As I walked, I noticed Felix and Demetri headed my way. I waved at them and rushed over.

"Hey, guys. What are you doing?"

"We just got done giving our report to the Masters. Now, we have some free time until the next mission," Felix answered.

"What about you?" Demetri asked.

"I need some more books. I finished these ones already," I gestured to the stack in my hand.

"Wow, you go through books fast. Honestly, I'm surprised you haven't read everything in the library in the year you've been here." Demetri commented.

"Hey, to be fair, some of those books are in other languages," I defended myself. I paused as I processed his last words. "Wait, it's been a year already?"

Felix nodded. "Yeah, in two weeks if you want to be technical."

I shoved my books into Felix's hands. "Will you return these for me? I've got something I need to do!" I asked, turning on my heel and running to Heidi's room.

:

I dodged through the guards as I turned down the hall where Heidi's room was. Skidding to a stop in front of her door, I repeatedly banged on it. "Hurry up, hurry up!"

Finally Heidi opened her door, a confused look on her face. "Are you alright, (Y/N)?"

I shook my head. "I need your help and I need it now," I begged.

Heidi nodded and ushered me into her room. "Are you going to tell me what's going on?"

I took a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart. "In two weeks, I'll have been with you guys for a year. In two weeks, it'll have been a year since Alec and I found out we are mates. I want to do something special for him."

Heidi grinned. "So what do you need me to do?"

"I need you to help me sneak out of the castle so I can go shopping. I already have an idea in mind of what I want to do but first I need fabric. And quilt batting. And a sewing machine." I looked at Heidi. "Do we even have a sewing machine here?"

"Talk to Caius. He's the more artistic of the three. As for getting you out of the castle, that's going to be hard. You're still human so the Kings won't want to let you leave. Why don't you write me a list of the fabric and anything else you need and I'll grab it."

"Thank you, Heidi! I want this to be a surprise for Alec so please don't tell him."

"I promise I won't tell. Go write me your list and I'll try and get it while you talk to Caius."

I nodded and went to leave Heidi's room. "Thanks again. I'll bring it by shortly."

As I left her room, I bumped into Alec.

"Hi, love!" I smiled at him.

"Hi, darling. What were you doing with Heidi?" He asked, wrapping an arm around my shoulder.

"Nothing, just a bit of girl talk," I said as we started walking.

"Just girl talk? Because it seems to have your heart beating faster than normal."

I blushed, trying to think of something to throw him off. "Heidi was just telling me about her latest boy-toy. That's all. What are you up to?"

Alec sighed. "The Masters are wanting me to stay back from missions for the time being."

"Oh? Why?"

"They're talking about changing you soon. It's been almost a year, love."

"Right. Speaking of the Masters, I actually need to talk to Master Caius. I'll be back later, love." I pressed a kiss to his cheek and turned to run off. Before I could, Alec grabbed my arm.

"I'll be in the gardens, come find me when you're done."

I nodded and left.

I ran to the throne room and knocked on the doors.

"Come in," Aro's voice rang out.

I opened the doors and entered the room. I stopped just shy of the stairs where the Masters were.

"Ah, young (Y/N). What brings you here?" Aro asked.

"I wanted to talk about my changing. And I also had a question for Master Caius." I took a breath to calm my nerves. Being in the Masters presence was always intense.

"I would like to wait another 2 and a half weeks. I have something special I want to do for Alec since it's been a year since we found each other and I don't my changing to get in the way."

"That sounds reasonable. Alec is lucky to have met you, my dear," Marcus said, smiling.

"If Aro agrees, then I see no problem waiting a little bit longer. But you also had a question for me?" Caius asked.

"Yes." I turned to face him. "Do we have a sewing machine?"

"We do. It's been a minute since it's been used but it should work fine. Why do you need it?" Caius asked.

I grinned sheepishly. "I want to make Alec a quilt. I know you guys don't technically get cold and don't really have a reason for one, but I thought it'd be nice to hand-make Alec something rather than buying something premade."

Marcus let out a chuckle. "I'm sure he'll love it. Caius will show you where the machine is."

Caius stood from his throne and headed towards the doors. "Follow me."

I bowed to the other two kings and made my way towards the third.

"So I need her to get black fabric, dark green fabric, a queen sized black sheet, and extra large batting," I muttered to myself.

"What are you going on about?" Caius asked, not looking back at me.

I jumped, not expecting him to start talking to me. "Oh, Heidi said she'd help me get the stuff I need to make the quilt so I'm making a list."

We turned down a hallway and entered a room on the left. "The machine is in here. There should be some extra things laying around that you can use."

Caius walked in and lit the lanterns. "If that is all, I'll take my leave."

"Yes, thank you Master Caius." I turned and bowed.

Caius nodded and left.

I spotted some paper and a pen. I grabbed some and jotted down the list for Heidi. I took a quick look around, noting where the machine was and some extra fabric laying around. I quickly added a tape measure to my list and left.

I searched the castle for Heidi, wanting to find her before returning to Alec. I finally found her, walking with Demetri.

"Heidi!" I called out, running to her.

"Hey, that took a lot longer than I thought it would," she commented as I handed her the list.

"Sorry. I bumped into Alec once I left your room and I had to come up with something so he wouldn't find out what I'm planning so I said I had to talk to the masters. Then Caius said we did have a sewing machine and he showed me where it is and then I wrote the list and then I came and found you."

"(Y/N). Breathe." Demetri laughed. "So what are you planning? You left in a rush earlier."

"I want to make Alec a quilt for our anniversary," I whispered. I wasn't sure if Alec was still in the gardens and I didn't want to risk him hearing if he wasn't.

Demetri nodded. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Help keep Alec away while I work on it? It'll probably take the entire the two weeks with all the cutting and sewing and ironing I need to do."

"Got it. I'll help keep Alec distracted till it's done."

"Thank you!"

"I'll run to the store and get your things. I'll send Demetri to come find you when I have everything." Heidi said, walking off.

"Great. I will go find Alec then and try not spill anything." I smiled and waved goodbye to Demetri.

I found Alec sitting in the gazebo, reading a book. I came up behind him, wrapping my arms around his shoulders.

"Did things go well with the Masters?" He asked, closing his book.

I nodded against his shoulder. "Yeah, I wanted to wait another couple weeks before changing. They agreed."

"Really? Why wait?"

I slid onto the bench beside Alec. "No reason in particular," I lied.

Alec arched his brow. "Are you scared?"

I sighed. "Yeah, kinda. All I've heard since being told I'd have to be change is how much it's going to hurt."

Alec wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me into his side. "It will be painful but I promise I will be by your side through it all."

I smiled and kissed him. "Thank you."

TIMESKIP

It's been two days since Heidi got my fabric and other items and I've managed to get all the cutting done. Now it was onto creating the rows.

I sat on the floor of the sewing room trying to decide on a pattern. Heidi had grabbed some watercolor and marble pattern fabric instead of solid colors which I thought worked really well. "Well, since the queen sheet is black, I could use the green fabric for the outside and use the black to create a heart in the middle," I muttered to myself.

Deciding that was the best way to go, I carefully laid out the pieces on the floor, mapping out how the quilt was going to look. Some of the squares would need to be cut differently but that was going to be too hard.

I grabbed my scissors and started cutting the black and green fabrics that would outline the heart.

"Hey, (Y/N)? Alec is looking for you." Felix said, poking his head in the door.

"Can you distract him? I'm getting ready to sew the squares into rows and I want to finish that tonight," I asked, looking up from my cutting.

"Of course. Good luck." Felix closed the door and I turned back to the fabric.

The last square was cut and the quilt was mapped out once more. I grabbed the first row, sat at the sewing machine and started sewing.

DAY FIVE

The final row had been sewed and I could finally take a break longer than just grabbing something to eat and sleeping. I pushed myself away from the sewing table and stood up. My back and shoulders popped as I stretched, making me sigh in relief.

I left the room and headed to the kitchen. I was craving spaghetti and in the mood to actual cook. I grabbed a pot and a pan and put them on the stove.

I hummed quietly to myself as I grabbed everything I need to start cooking.

"I see someone's out of hiding."

I gasped and spun to face whoever spoke. "Alec! Hi!"

He was leaning against the doorway of the kitchen, looking annoyed.

"So when are you disappearing again?"

I frowned. "In a couple hours. I'm sorry."

Alec scoffed. "What are you even doing? Felix and Demetri won't tell me."

I put the pot of water I was holding on the stove and walked over to my boyfriend. "I promise you'll find out soon but not right now."

I leaned up to kiss his cheek but he pushed me away.

"Sure. I'll see you later. Or not."

I watched as Alec walked away, feeling my heart break. I looked back at the food I was starting to cook and decided to just put everything away.

I had to hurry and finish the quilt before I seriously ruined my relationship.

DAY TEN

It had been a couple days since I last left the sewing room. Felix, Demetri and Heidi had taken turns bringing me food and coaxing me to my room to sleep.

I had finished sewing the rows together yesterday and now it was onto cutting the batting to size.

I laid out the top of the quilt on the floor and rolled the batting on top of that. Grabbing my scissors, I carefully cut the batting to match the quilt top. Once that was done, I grabbed the sheet and laid it next to the rest of the quilt.

Then I placed the batting on top, making sure it was centered and then added the quilt top. I walked over to the sewing table and grabbed the tomato plush that held the pins and needles.

I put a pin in each corner of the blanket and across the outer edge. I was almost done and I couldn't wait to show Alec. He had started avoiding me whenever I left and I couldn't blame him. I could only hope he'd be able to forgive me.

DAY THIRTEEN

It was finally time to sew the border of the quilt. I rubbed my eyes and grabbed the quilt, taking it to the sewing table. The machines gentle purr as it sewed had become a comforting sound during the project. My hands and back ached from all the pinning and sewing and overall bad posture.

Finally. Finally the quilt was done. I carefully folded it and placed it on the table. I sat down on the couch Felix had brought in when I started spending a majority of my time in the room.

My eyes began to droop as I gave in to my exhaustion and I fell asleep.

Alec's POV:

I walked through the castle, wondering what was so important that (Y/N) no longer talked to me. I tried to just forget about it but they would lock themselves in the room for hours on end without saying anything.

Felix and Demetri, even Heidi, kept trying to tell me everything was ok but they wouldn't tell me what they were doing.

I scoffed as I saw Felix and Heidi rushing towards me.

"You need to come see (Y/N)," Heidi said, grabbing my arm.

"Why? If you haven't noticed, they've been avoiding me."

"You numbskull, they've been working on something for you. And now it's been like 36 hours since I've seen them leave that room." Heidi scolded.

My expression soften. "36 hours?"

Felix nodded. "They wanted to do something special for your anniversary tomorrow. I won't tell you what they did but you need to come with us and get her to eat a proper meal and get some sleep."

I nodded. "Lets go then."

I followed Heidi and Felix to the room (Y/N) had been holing themselves in.

When we got there, (Y/N) was asleep on the couch. I walked over and knelt beside them.

"Darling? It's time to wake up now."

(Y/N)'s POV:

I slowly opened my eyes, scared the voice I heard was just a dream. Once my eyes adjusted, I saw Alec kneeling beside me with Felix and Heidi standing behind him.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes.

"I've come to get you. Heidi and Felix told me you've been in here the last three days."

Quickly, I sat up, realizing just what was going on. "No, no, no, you can't be in here! I haven't wrapped it yet."

Tears filled my eyes at the thought of ruining the surprise.

"Love, it's okay. I haven't looked around. I just came to get you. I've been worried," Alec said, trying to calm me down.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry I've been avoiding you. I just wanted to do something special for you," I explained, wiping my eyes.

Alec moved to sit next to me on the couch. "I'm sorry too. I should have been more considerate towards you. I was hurt when you started avoiding me. I should have tried to talk to you instead of avoiding you as well."

I wrapped my arms around his waist and hugged him. "We both could've communicated better. We'll do better from now on."

I felt Alec lean down and kiss the top of my head. "We will."

"You're surprise is on the sewing table. If you still want it," I told him, pulling back.

"Of course I do, love. You made it for me after all."

I smiled at him and walked over to the table, grabbing the quilt. Walking back to him, I set it in his lap. "I made it in our favourite colors."

Alec stood up and let the blanket unfurl. There was messed up stitches and some rows were slightly off but it was finished. Alec dropped the blanket on the couch and grabbed me, twirling me in the air.

"I love it. Thank you."

I hugged him again, resting my head on his shoulder. "You're welcome. I'm glad you like it."

Alec set me down and pressed a kiss to my forehead. "It's perfect. I love you."

"I love you, too."

Bonus:

"Great! Now go get some proper food, (Y/N), and go to sleep in your own bed," Heidi exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air.

"Alright, alright, fine! You win! Let's get out of here," I said, laughing.

Alec grabbed his quilt in one hand and grabbed mine in the other. We followed Heidi and Felix out of the room, happy things were normal again.

[somediyprojects]

The Tapestree Project is a memory cloth/tapestry stitched and designed by Rachel Samek (née Piso). This is an ongoing project in which she documents her life in cross-stitch. She stitches memories, current events, and anything that especially interests her. She keeps an online journal to recount why she chose certain motifs. The tapestree is stitched on 45ct. ivory Graziano linen with a range cotton embroidery thread. The cloth measures about three feet wide by two feet high.

[Reddit | Blog | Instagram | Facebook | Tumblr | Twitter]

Descriptions under the cut.

pics 1 & 2— I stitched these little gold scissors this week to remember the foggy, intense few months immediately following the birth of my boys. If you knew me around that time, you know that when I was just about 7 months pregnant, I was diagnosed with preeclampsia and received an emergency C-section at 31 weeks. All three guys were incredibly tiny (Charlie was 2 lb 12 oz) and as expected, they would go on to spend long (long, long) stretches in the NICU. Also expectedly, I was a wild mess. I was spending long days at the hospital in the middle of winter, feeling powerless, and as a result, I was killing myself trying to pump enough to keep up with three infants. During those delirious nights of waking up every few hours, I would collapse in front of Hulu (probably rewatching The Handmaid's Tale) and Hulu would do what Hulu did best: repeat the exact same commercial every 20 minutes. During those first weeks, that commercial was a trailer for the upcoming horror movie "Us." The score of the two-minute trailer is so unsettling that even though I would sometimes scramble to switch it off, it was also weirdly comforting to be shocked out of my weepy, helpless state of zombiehood. This came with the price of scaring myself shitless when I had to walk back to bed at 3 AM with the slowed-down, beefed up version of "I Got 5 On It" on repeat in my head. These scissors, a symbol from the movie, represent those weird, difficult postpartum nights. Whenever I hear the first few chords from the trailer, I'm immediately back in 2019, freezing cold on our old couch, fully panicked at life.

pics 3 & 4— I added more hairwork to my tapestree! Last fall, I cross stitched a tiny design using my boys’ hair. I tried again this weekend, using my own hair to make this equally tiny bird. One of the questions I get a lot with this project is whether I get burned out working on the same thing for so long. Yes, I get sick of it, mostly due to the pressure I put on myself to include things (like current events) out of obligation. This bird was one way to bring “me” back into it. If you know anything about the Victorians, you know that they loved crafting with hair. One way was braiding a lock and placing it in a book with a poem underneath—creating an ode to a person’s essence. Since it was fashionable to be sentimental, they made similar keepsakes as jewelry and other textile art. I’ve talked in the past about how much of a nightmare it is working with hair, but if you’re interested in seeing my process, you can find a highlight on my page that covers my last attempt. I also included a picture of the back of my stitching (first time ever!) so you can see the ridiculous knot it creates.

pics 5-7— I have a new tapestree addition! It's the weird little quilt at the very bottom! I have a bin in our basement with a bunch of the boys' preemie onesies. I have plans to make a quilt with them, but since that probably won't happen for another 20 years, I wanted to add something small to my tapestree. Half of the quilt blocks are snipped from the clothes with patterns that have the strongest memories of the boys being in the hospital (the white parts are fabric, for example). The rest is filled in with solid cross stitch. It's been a crazy few weeks! I recently started working full time again (from home, fortunately!) and we're starting to plan the boys' third birthday on December 14th. I can't believe it.🤍

[randomstupidchaos]

Quiltspiration during a pandemic be like YOU GET A QUILT FOR CHRISTMAS! YOU GET A QUILT FOR CHRISTMAS! EVERYBODY GETS QUILTS FOR CHRISTMAAAAAAAS! 

[quicksilversquared]

Move to Safety: Chapter 4 (of 6)

After Adrien just happens to spy Nooroo in his father’s office, he’s sent into an panic. His father is Hawkmoth, which means that Adrien is in serious danger.

Thankfully the Dupain-Chengs are more than willing to step up to the plate and lend a helping hand.

links in the reblog

"Ooh, I like this one!"

Marinette laughed when she spotted the bolt that Adrien was holding up. He had gotten back to the house after the mural dedication, they had gotten a bite to eat, and then the two of them had headed out to the fabric store for a bit of a distraction. It hadn't taken long for the two of them to get neck-deep in fabric. "Kitty paws? Why am I not surprised?"

"It's Chat Noir fabric!" Adrien glanced at the label, unsurprised to see that the neon-green cat paws on a black background were, in fact, designed to invoke Chat Noir. Thankfully, there wasn't a corresponding price mark-up on it. "You said that you needed black, right?"

"I do, yeah." Marinette stepped closer, inspecting the fabric. There was a small frown on her face. "The only problem is that it's a pretty prominent pattern and it's usually a better idea to not have the background fabrics be quite so, uh..."

Adrien glanced at the pattern in her hand, then back at the fabric. He could see what she was saying. "Oh. Darn."

"We could use it as the backing fabric, though!" Marinette said quickly. Then she spotted something else in the rack of fabric bolts and grinned, ducking down and reaching way back to grab another bolt and wriggle it out. "Though here's another option that I suspect you might like."

She pulled out anther bolt, and oh, he should have suspected that there would be a Ladybug fabric as well. It had a black background like the Chat Noir one, with little ladybugs scattered across the fabric, small pink and red flecks between them.

...he really liked that one, too.

Adrien dithered between the two choices, honestly torn. He loved the thought of being wrapped up in his Lady's colors, but he also really, really liked the Chat Noir fabric. It was a nod to his role in protecting Paris, and once his father was defeated, it wouldn't be overly dangerous to have superhero references around him.

Not that it was super suspicious at the moment, really- after all, all of Paris loved the superheroes- but everything would be safer with their supervillains gone, and it wouldn't have been smart to do anything to make his father suspicious even if he hadn't been Hawkmoth.

"Actually, I could do large patchwork blocks of both of them on the back," Marinette said while Adrien was still deliberating. "Like a checkerboard."

Adrien perked up. "Ooh, yes, please!"

The front of the quilt was going to be mostly blues and greens and black, and Adrien had plenty of fun picking through the racks to find something that stuck out to him. Subtle patterns were better for not overwhelming the overall design, and he wanted this to be a quilt that he would be happy with for years to come. It took longer than he had anticipated to make his choices, though Marinette didn't seem at all surprised by that as she wheeled their cart to the cutting counter and took a ticket.

"We're not going to get any studying done today, are we?" Adrien asked with a laugh as they lingered near the counter, keeping one eye on the ticket number being served. "Or at least I'm not, what with the dedication this morning and then this now."

"We'll have some time this afternoon and then this evening!" Marinette protested with a little laugh. "And all of tomorrow. Maybe we should have waited on the fabric errand a bit, but I thought it would be relaxing."

"And better now than after, y'know, the arrest," Adrien said, dropping his voice to a murmur on his last couple words. "I probably won't be able to go out as myself unless I want to get mobbed."

Marinette stiffened. "If people dare go after you-"

"I was thinking reporters, mostly." It was inevitable, really. They would want to know if he had known, if he was surprised, what he would do now. "Hopefully I'll get cleared pretty early on."

"If the superheroes tell the police that it was Adrien who told them who Hawkmoth was, I think they wouldn't question you that much," Marinette murmured, loud enough for him to hear but quiet enough that the other customers nearby wouldn't hear them. "You wouldn't tell on him if you were working with him, obviously, so if they knew that you were the whistleblower..."

Adrien nodded. That made sense, and while he didn't know if he necessarily wanted that to become public knowledge- there would probably be people who would scoff at him turning his father into the police and wonder if he had no loyalty if even family bonds meant nothing to him, never mind the whole supervillain angle- letting the police at least know would probably save him a world of trouble.

"I'm looking forward to not having to sneak in and out of your house," Adrien said instead of continuing that conversation. This wasn't the best place for it, anyway. "Especially the sneaking out. I hate having to climb over you in the mornings."

"You've been great at sneaking out," Marinette assured him quickly, flashing him a smile. "I haven't been woken up at all! Quiet as a cat."

Adrien laughed at that. "Thanks, I try. But it's more of a- it just feels creepy to climb over you when you're still asleep. Like, I'm going into your bedroom while you're asleep and climbing up to your bed and it's just- like, I know that we're comfortable with each other now, but..."

"I know that you're there, though. It's not like you don't have permission." Marinette bumped his side gently. "Honestly, it's fine. As long as you don't take any pictures of me drooling in my sleep, you're good."

"You don't drool," Adrien blurted before he could stop himself. "I mean, not that I look- I try not to, but I have to make sure that I don't step on you, so I guess I do kind of look- but you do sprawl out like a starfish when you sleep and it's cute and oh my god I'm going to stop talking now."

Marinette was giggling. "It's fine!"

"Stupid runaway mouth," Adrien grumbled, trying not to hunch his shoulders and hide behind Marinette when a couple women glanced over at them. "Sorry. I promise that I'm not trying to be a creep."

"Like I said, it's fine." Their number was called, and Marinette led the way to the cutting counter, placing the bolts of fabric that they had selected up on the counter and listing off how much she needed of each. "We could have tried to find a different window, I suppose, or- or something. I just thought that the balcony would look less weird."

Adrien decided to just nod at that point. He had an inkling that opening his mouth again would just result in more embarrassment on his end.

It didn't take long to get all of the fabric cut, and then Marinette took a quick detour through the quilting section to pick up batting, thread, and a couple other supplies before heading to the checkout. As the stuff was for the quilt was rung up, Adrien couldn't help but wince.

He had known that quilts took forever and a half to make, but he hadn't known how freaking expensive they were to make. Adrien opened his mouth to offer to pay for the materials, but a sharp look from Marinette had him closing his mouth just as quickly.

He would just have to get her some really, really nice presents for her birthday and Christmas, then.

...would it be excessive to compose Marinette a song on the piano to express his appreciation on top of whatever he bought for her? After all, she was going to be putting hours and hours into the quilt, and composing something on the piano... well, that was the closest that he was going to get to putting in a similar amount of effort.

"I can't wait to get into this fabric," Marinette said happily as they exited the store. Adrien had managed to snag the bulkiest of the bags to carry, figuring that that was probably as much as she would allow him to do. "I've only made a couple quilts before, mostly lap ones, and it was so much fun. And the pattern that you picked out looked really interesting, too."

"Ah-ah-ah, no sewing until exams are done," Adrien chided. He grinned. "See, I thought I remembered someone swearing that having the fabric in the house wouldn't be a distraction."

Marinette groaned. "I could do it as a study break! I've done that before, I just set up a timer so that I don't accidentally spend too much time sewing."

Adrien glanced over at her as they walked. "Is that really a good break, though? I've always been taught that I should get up and move around and maybe get a snack or something during study breaks so that I'm not still hunching over or focusing on anything. I'm just watching out for your health, Mari!" he added when Marinette groaned. "Seriously, let the quilt wait! Then you can go absolutely wild with it once exams are over."

Marinette dithered, then frowned. "Fine."

The bakery wasn't a super-far walk from the fabric store, so Adrien took the opportunity to enjoy the just-warm-enough weather, turning his face up to the sun to bask in the warmth. If his father were here, he would probably be scolding Adrien for not having put sunscreen on first so that there wouldn't be any chance of him getting any sort of sunburn.

Adrien pushed that thought out of his head. His father wasn't here, and he was going to be in jail soon enough that Adrien's complexion would no longer be any of his concern.

"Aha, I sense an incoming project," Mrs. Cheng commented as soon as the two of them reached the bakery and stepped inside. It was late enough in the day that the crowds had subsided, with only a few people milling around to pick out what they wanted. "New quilt?"

"Adrien insists that I wait to start it until after exams are over," Marinette told her mom in her best long-suffering voice. "Something about not distracting myself from studying and not being all hunched over fabric during study breaks."

"Aha, someone who has some sense," Mrs. Cheng said with a laugh, beaming at Adrien. "We've been trying to keep her from bouncing back and forth between studying and sewing for ages. You'll have to keep an eye on this one."

"Maman!" Marinette groaned, just as Adrien said, "I will."

"Oh, not you, too," Marinette complained. "I can self-regulate!"

Mrs. Cheng laughed. "Dear, we had to go out and buy creams for you to put on your back when it hurts too much from you hunching over. And then when you went to that chiropractor, she said that you need to work on straightening up and stretching on a regular basis when you're working on homework or sewing. I'm thinking that your self-regulation could use some work."

Marinette just groaned some more and headed for the door to the apartment. Adrien laughed and followed her, giving a cheery wave good-bye to Mrs. Cheng as he left. She beamed at him before turning back to her customers, greeting the next person in line cheerily.

"Not to pile on or anything, but right before exams doesn't seem like a great time to risk back problems flaring up," Adrien commented as he caught up to Marinette on the stairs. "Seriously, it can wait. Think of the quilt project as a reward that you'll get at the end of the week!"

Marinette flashed a smile back at him. "I know. It'll be something to look forward to. We... i mean, we'll probably want a distraction by then, too."

Adrien tilted his head to one side, momentarily puzzled, and then it hit him. Right. His father would be returning from his summer fashion preparations at the end of the week, coinciding with the end of their exam week. That was when he and Ladybug were planning on attacking his father- well, depending on when Mr. Agreste decided to send out an akuma, at least.

Funny that he had managed to forget about that when he and Ladybug had literally just been discussing it. Clearly the errand to the fabric store with Marinette had been a good distractor.

Honestly, the company had probably had a lot to do with it.

"Yeah, a distraction then sounds good," Adrien agreed, smiling back at her. "But for now, let's get the bags put away and get some studying done."

  Exam week arrived too fast, just like it always did. Everyone- or almost everyone, at least, there were always some exceptions- was serious, hunched over books and notebooks or quizzing each other between classes.

Most years, Adrien would have spent most of his time out of school with a personal tutor hired to help him study, with a personally customized study plan based off of his strengths and weaknesses. This year, though, Adrien had managed to persuade Nathalie that it was unneeded, and that he had learned enough about study skills and how to figure out his weak areas that he didn't need a tutor this year. In fact, he had argued, having to create his own study plan could be beneficial. He would have to be more involved and that could mean that he remembered the lessons better.

Nathalie hadn't been entirely convinced, of course, but she had agreed to let him try it this one time. If his grades slipped from what they had been in the past, though, she had warned, he would be getting tutors for all future exams and there would be more summer tutoring than before.

It had been a pretty motivating threat, at least before Adrien discovered his father's secret and, by extension, Nathalie's. Now, unless Adrien decided that he actually wanted a tutor, there wouldn't be any more.

That was fine. There wouldn't be any more akuma attacks disrupting his classes, either, so Adrien figured that it would all even out. Besides, it had been easier to study when he was in Marinette's house, for some reason. Maybe it was because he wasn't antsy and on edge all of the time. They kept him busy and distracted when he wasn't studying, which kept Adrien from getting caught up in his own worries about what would happen once his father returned.

A couple times, Adrien had fallen asleep next to Marinette on her floor while studying. It had been comfortable and they had woken up in a tangle of limbs. It could have been a bit awkward, honestly, but somehow it wasn't. They were comfortable enough with each other now that it was just something that they did.

And then exams were over, and Mr. Agreste returned to the city. Adrien was half-convinced that his father would notice that something was off, but Mr. Agreste just made a brief appearance to inquire how Adrien's exams had gone, then retreated to his office to keep working.

Honestly, that was just the way Adrien liked it, particularly now that he knew his father's secret. The more distance between them, the better.

Nathalie dropped off Adrien's schedule for the start of summer, then headed out the door for her four days of vacation and general unwinding. Adrien watched her go, then immediately headed over to the Dupain-Cheng house to keep Marinette company and help her cut out the hundreds of pieces for his quilt.

And with that, the countdown was on. Ladybug had distributed the Horse to Seabiscut and the Bee to Hornet, and she had decided to use the Snake herself during their final battle. Adrien was rather relieved about that, honestly, since he was likely to be at little emotionally compromised during the battle and it was one less thing for him to have to remember to bring. His role was to-

Was to-

Well, to provide backup where needed. To join Ladybug to take down the final akuma, after Hawkmoth was defeated. To help keep the arrest under wraps, since Nathalie would still need to be captured and they didn't want to tip her off ahead of time, in case she was keeping her Miraculous on her.

It didn't sound like a whole lot, if he was being honest, but then again, the takedown was planned to be simple and straightforward. There wouldn't be a whole lot to do, not if things went to plan. And with the Snake in action, things should go to plan.

It didn't take long for Adrien's attention to wander while he watched Marinette pin and sew, so he headed downstairs to help out in the bakery. Mr. Dupain seemed to know without asking that Adrien needed a distraction, so he herded Adrien over to the sink to wash his hands, then started teaching him how to do different jobs. The croissant roller was easy enough to operate and hard to mess up, and of course it was hard to mess up loading the dishwashers. He didn't get to do any actual mixing of ingredients, because it would be too easy for him to mess up if he got distracted by his thoughts (or had to leave because of an akuma attack), but Mr. Dupain had promised that he would teach Adrien how to bake- abet in smaller batches first- once things were more settled.

Adrien was looking forward to it, though he couldn't deny that it was a bit intimidating. He hadn't done a ton of cooking- he helped with prep, sure, but not cooking by himself- and baking just seemed even more complicated. There were more things that could go wrong, Adrien was pretty sure, what with the yeast and rising and trying to bake all the way through and not overbaking and-

Well, it was a delicate process, that was for sure, and not something that Adrien wanted to be learning about when he was on edge waiting for an akuma attack.

Thankfully the wait wasn't too long. Two days after Mr. Agreste returned to Paris, an akuma alert lit up Adrien's phone. He muted it, suddenly feeling ill and regretting the sandwich that he had just eaten for lunch.

This was it. It was actually happening.

Adrien had spent the past week- longer, really- trying to ignore what Hawkmoth's defeat would entail. But that time was past now, and part of Adrien- the part that hated change, that didn't want to give up on the last bit of his family (his aunt and cousin, of course, not included)- wanted to put it off, even if the rest of him just wanted the whole Hawkmoth thing to be over with. There was a lot of mixed feelings there, and Adrien know how he was even supposed to start sorting them out.

Adrien's racing thoughts were promptly cut off by a tight hug.

"You'll be okay," Marinette promised, resting her head against his shoulder. "We're here for you no matter what." She looked up at him, her chin resting on his collarbone. "And we can do whatever you want when you get back. If you want distractions, we can do distractions. If you want to cuddle and watch a movie and drink hot chocolate, we can do that."

Adrien swallowed hard, nodding. "Yeah." He hugged Marinette back, then pulled back, patting his pocket to make sure that his lucky charm from Marinette was still there. "Okay. I've got this."

"You do. And you have Ladybug and the rest of your team there for you, too." Marinette beamed at him. "You aren't alone."

"Okay." Somehow Marinette always knew just what to say. Adrien squared his shoulders, then flashed a smile- maybe a little weak around the edges, but still a smile- at her. "Plagg, transform me!"

With a flash of green, he was transformed. Chat Noir gave Marinette one more hug- for good luck, and to remind himself that he was still going to have a home and an amazing family even after his father was arrested- and then was off, heading for the abandoned building that Ladybug had picked out as their meeting point.

Soon it was all going to be over. He could only hope that he was actually ready.

[the-melting-world]

The Empress | Side A: “Everything”

Art by @markmefistov

~ In which a cheerful mage seeks the counsel of a fluffy magician… 

The Trio Appearances: Kipling | Khleo | Ozy

Arcana LI appearances: Asra | Nadia | Muriel 

Track Origins: “Everything” by Ben Howard

Not sure if this is the right track? The full album can be found here: The Empress

cw: none

~  1.7k words

Ozy hoped that time spent with Nadia would clear his head, but even after they had dinner and later, their fill of each other, the grey mage still hadn’t been able to get his afternoon with Kipling out of his mind.

Ozy stared up at a ceiling quilted in sheer panels of fabric. The overlapping panels created a majestic framework, all shimmering in varying shades of fuchsia and indigo. Nadia drew the curtains closed on her circular bed before snuggling up next to Ozy.

As she settled against the pillow, the Countess noticed something somber in Ozy’s profile even in the dim light. 

“Oz? Is everything all right?”

He blinked once and turned his head, his expression growing concerned. “I was distant again, wasn’t I? During… when we were…”

Nadia leaned over and gave him a reassuring kiss. “I’m not reprimanding you. I know you enjoyed yourself.”

Ozy grinned rather bashfully. “I did. Thank you for making sure of that.”

Nadia chuckled in the back of her throat. She kissed him again. “You’re welcome…” Then she drew back and said, “But there is something hanging over your head that’s making me worry. Do you want to talk about it?”

Ozy knitted his eyebrows together before exhaling defeatedly. “I keep trying to convince myself that Kip is the one holding onto too much of the past and that’s what is keeping her from progressing, but Nadia, what if it’s me?”

The Countess reached over and moved some hair out of his eyes. “Oh, Oz... look at everything you and Kipling have accomplished in such a short period. What makes you think that you’re holding either of you back?”

Ozy turned toward the ceiling again and closed his eyes. “I figured out early on how to contact the Major Arcana. They tend to give pretty good advice and sometimes I just like to sit in their realms for a change of scenery. But…”

“But what?”

Ozy opened his eyes. “I haven’t been able to locate the Sun. I know that they’re my patron. I’ve tried so many times to find them.”

Nadia was silent for a moment. And then, “What does that have to do with Kipling and Khleo?”

Ozy’s hands came to life as he wondered aloud, “What if there’s information the Sun has that I’m supposed to know? What if I haven’t done my part in locating them and it’s affecting my ability to train Kip? What if–” 

Nadia gently pressed Ozy’s hands against his chest with her own. “I don’t think this is about you, Oz. At least not right now. I think it’s about Kipling.”

Ozy’s hands twitched slightly against Nadia’s. “I don’t know what to do or who to go to in order to ask for help.”

“Have you spoken to Asra?”

His hands stilled. Ozy chewed the corner of his lip. “No.”

Nadia patted his chest. “He’s very connected to the Arcana, especially his own, The Magician. Perhaps you should start with him.”

It wasn’t the answer to all of his questions, but Nadia’s suggestion made Ozy’s brain settle. The grey mage took that as a positive sign. He chose not to dwell on it anymore, lest his thoughts take him off into another cycling of what-ifs. 

He thanked Nadia and got more comfortable next to her. Then he closed his eyes and waited for sleep.

The next day when Oz’mandias showed up at Asra and Kipling’s shop, it almost seemed as if Asra had been expecting him this whole time. Ozy made sure to arrive when he knew Kip would be busy with making her deliveries around the city. 

After Asra let Ozy inside and the grey mage explained his concerns, the magician sighed and said, “I agree with you. The memory of Khleo is still holding Kip back. I think that Kip’s patron is the only one who can help her now.” 

Ozy nodded. “Something tells me that the journey will be rough, but we have to get there. I don’t think she can do it on her own.”

“Come with me.” Asra came out from behind the front desk and started closing down the shop. When he and Ozy were outside and he was locking the door, he said, “To be honest, Ozy, I’ve been trying to get Kip an audience with the Empress for a while, but even with the help of my own patron, nothing has come from it. However, Muriel might know where we should start looking. He was the last one to give Kipling a reading.” 

Asra and Ozy spent most of the walk to Muriel’s hut in silence. When they entered the woods and the sounds of the city were replaced by a deeper blanket of silence, Asra asked Ozy, “Can you tell me what Khleo was like?” 

Ozy didn’t expect the magician to ask that question, but he was happy to give a little insight. 

“They were quite friendly! But they would brood a lot. And from what I can tell, they haven’t changed much in that regard.”

Asra slowed down. “What do you mean, from what you can tell? You found them?”

“I did.” Ozy said with a smile.

Asra blinked. “Where? In another realm?”

Ozy shook his head, his beads chirping happily. “Nope. Khleo lives and works right here in Vesuvia. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if she and Kipling crossed paths a few times before I showed up. Only, they didn’t know it thanks to their individual experiences with memory loss.”

Asra stopped walking altogether. “Have you told Kipling about this? I feel like she would want to know.”

Ozy stopped as well. He looked over his shoulder at the magician. “Of course she would want to know. And as soon as she learns of Khleo’s whereabouts, she wouldn’t hesitate to abandon her training and instead fixate on seeking them out. Think about what a disaster that would be. Khleo’s not ready for us to intervene on their life. Kipling’s not ready to step away from her training. There are Doors and Rooms that need Kip’s attention before she can go flouncing after Khleo.” 

“Ozy,” Asra sighed, “I see what you’re getting at, but I don’t know if that’s fair. Kip’s been hurting this whole time. She needs to reconnect with Khleo at some point.”

“Yes, Asra, I completely agree,” Ozy interjected. “All puzzles deserved to be unscrambled. All equations want to be solved.”

Asra’s eyes darkened. He said coldly, “Kipling is not some damn equation.”

“Timing!” Ozy barked. “It’s about the timing, Asra. That’s the puzzle here. Not my cousin.”

Asra sobered at the serious tone Ozy had taken with him.

After a moment, the grey mage offered a more gentle expression. “You’re going to have to trust me on this one. Bringing Khleo and Kipling face to face right now is not a good idea.”

Asra clenched his jaw, but decided to back off. He gestured ahead of them. “We’re here.”

As soon as Muriel opened the door for them and saw Ozy, he adopted a relatively polite, but a cautious demeanor. Asra honestly had no idea how Muriel would react to Ozy, who was naturally open and genuine, but perpetually excitable. 

Asra did his best to make it very clear to Muriel that not only was Ozy Kip’s dear friend, but Nadia considered him very trustworthy. This seemed to help Muriel relax a little more in Ozy’s presence.

After Asra quickly informed Muriel of why they had come to visit, the huntsman flicked his sharp green gaze back and forth between the two magicians before leaning back on his stool and huffing, “I don’t know if there’s much I can do to help. You already know everything about the reading I gave Kip.” Still, Muriel’s gaze became thoughtful as he probed his mind for things that might be useful to Asra and Ozy.

Finally, after several minutes of silence, he said, “I don’t know if this is something that could help, but ever since Kip’s nightmares have gotten worse, her plant magic has been acting on its own accord.”

Ozy leaned forward, his hazel irises sparking with interest. “Explain. What do you mean?”

Muriel bristled slightly at his directness, but after an encouraging nod from Asra, the green-eye mage elaborated. “Wherever Kip goes on this property, she leaves behind a trail of daisies. They usually don’t sprout until a few hours later. At first I thought it was a coincidence, but I couldn’t deny it when I noticed the pattern of the flowers blooming only in the places that Kipling had visited.”

Ozy gave Muriel a little space, his gaze wandering as he processed this new information. This wasn’t news to Asra, but he hadn’t been sure if it was important enough to share with Ozy earlier.

“The daisies. Are they still there, Muriel?”

This time Muriel was not caught off guard by the directness of Ozy’s question. 

He nodded. “They are.”

Once again, Ozy’s gaze locked onto his. “Show me, please.”

Soon Asra and Ozy were following Muriel out onto his garden and the forest that surrounded his hut. Ozy dropped into a crouch at the first cluster of daisies they came across.

Ozy grazed the petals with the tips of his fingers, picking up on the magical traces of permanence. The flowers were so white, they looked bleached even under the shade of the surrounding oaks. 

“These look just like the daisies that sprouted when Kipling took us to Strength’s realm,” Asra noted.

Ozy heard Asra’s comment, but he didn’t speak on it. He was busy arriving at his own conclusions.

Everything, it seemed, came back around to the same point. 

Khleo. 

All this time, Ozy had given Kipling space when it came to the subject of their long lost friend. He was afraid to push. Afraid to take it too far.

But what if I need to take it there? Ozy wondered as he continued to brush the surface of the daisies and feel Kip’s magic buzzing under his fingertips.

As a long time scholar of grey magic, Ozy had developed his own instinct when it came to the pursuit of certain pieces of knowledge. He could acknowledge that there was time to give himself space and learn something in natural degrees.

But there were times when the information he needed would not come quietly, and Ozy would have to really push himself in order to get results.

Kipling found and opened Strength’s Door on her own. Twice. 

Khleo had been the motivation behind both instances.

Based on this information, Ozy’s instincts told him that if he expected anything more from Kip going forward, he was going to have to push her in the right direction.

[extremelyblackandwhite]

hi, hc request... can u make a part 2 to your laurie!bucky x amy!reader hcs? i really wanna know what happens after the ending like a peak into their relationship and all 👉🏼👈🏼

hello!!! yes, yes i can!! i hope you enjoy it x

y/n stood there in a heavy wedding dress, drenched in rain water with some of her makeup running down her face, hair wet with water beads rolling down her face.

bucky opened the door wide so she could get inside his flat, her dress barely fitting through the door even when half the volume had been diminished by the rain

"oh my god" she mumbled to herself, hands grabbing her skirt as she tried to turn around "oh my god, i just left ben at the altar" "doll, calm down, just sit down" "i can't sit down, this is taffeta" "i don't know what the heck that means, doll" "it's gonna wrinkle" "it's drenched"

she started walking around in his living room, leaving a track of water as she paced with her own thoughts. what was she doing? she had just left ben in the altar and for what? what was she doing? she was standing in the living room of a guy who she had been in love with since she could remember, the same guy who had been in love with her sister, in her wedding dress.

"this is all your fault" she pointed as him, dropping her skirt to the ground, the fabric almost glueing to the floor "how is this my fault?" "you told me not to marry him" "because you shouldn't marry him!" "see that's what i mean. you can't just say that, you can't just barge into my life and ask me not to marry him. he's a nice man and he loves me." "but do you love him?"

y/n remained silent, fists balled up by her side as he rose his eyebrows in a cockish manner before clicking his tongue "that's the problem, isn't it doll?" "no, that's not. i don't ... love him but i like him, he's nice and he likes me back." "like? you're not a like kinda of girl" "because you'd know. last time i checked every time we were in the same room, you only spoke to my MARRIED sister” “well at least one of you got to the altar” “fuck you bucky” 

bucky took a step back trying to collect himself, emotions running too high between both of them. y/n held up her forehead, wondering if she had made the right decision running away. of course she had, she didn’t want to get married, but maybe she shouldn’t have come here, to his place. “i’m sorry” “i’m sorry too. i didn’t mean to ruin your day” “you never ruin my day, dollface” “don’t call me that. you always called my sister that” “okay. uhm ... why don’t you go shower and take a nap or something? maybe it’ll make you feel better”

he watched her leave in her drenched wedding dress yet his mind couldn’t help but betray him as he imagined what things would’ve been if they were different. 

he had always found her so interesting, the way she would give everyone the side eye when they were talking during her study sessions or how she’d always pack an extra lunch just in case someone forgot

she had always been there not just for everyone she cared for but also for him. she’d even joked with him after her sister chose steve “well, that’s on her. what kind of last name is rogers? it totally does not go with annabelle”

he let her sleep in his bedroom for the night, taking his spot in the couch which made sure he woke up bright and early yet she beat him to the curve, standing in the middle of the kitchen nursing her usual cup of tea with entirely way too much milk. she was wearing the understructure of her dress which made her look adorable.

“you’re early” “i’ve searched and there’s no places to rent in new york at the moment” “thought you had a place in the upper east” “ben has a place, i am just living there” “no way you were living with him” “it was cheap rent, buck” “you graduated from yale, y/n” “yeah but it’s new york, everything is overpriced and landlords don’t sell or rent to a woman unless they tell them daddy is paying” “you can stay here” “no i can’t. you only have one bedroom” “and it’s yours” “buck” “what other choice do you have? your sister and steve?” “god no, they’re trying for a baby, living with them would be like living in a porno set” “oh” 

“oh ...” she grabbed his hand in hers “i’m sorry buck, i didn’t mean to...” “i’m not in love with annabelle anymore, y/n. i just thought ... thought steve would’ve said something” “i’m sure he’ll tell you when they’re successful” “not really, steve hates me” “steve doesn’t hate. he’s probably just busy boning my sister” “i can’t believe you ran away” “you told me not to marry him” “yeah but not leave him at the altar” “oh shut up bucky.” “you’re staying here until we can find a place” “bu ...” “let’s be roomies”

things just seemed to work out for the two of them as “roomies” and bucky had grown way to accustomed to her being around

the two of them just seemed to fit with y/n ending up being the most serious one while bucky just stood there, making her smile whenever she would get too caught up on her work and ways

“buck, go grab the kale” “why are we having kale?” “because it’s healthy for you buck” “but kale” “go get the kale” “yes m’am”

he’d grab the kale before starting to tickle her with it “oh my god, behave” “okay milady, i will tickle you with a carrot” 

the old ladies at the market would probably be shocked thinking it was some sort of euphemism which only made y/n want to hide and bucky chuckle

“next time i’m gonna ask what flavoured condoms you like” “this is why you’re single” “OH HONEY DO YO...” cut to y/n dragging him out of a shop “i hate you” “no you don’t” “you go home and i get takeaway” “no pasta” “but buck” “you always order pasta” “well it’s pasta night” “no” “the ladies at the shop think i’m gonna be tickled by your carrot” “as if that would be so bad” “i’ve seen you naked, it’s not a very impressive carrot” “you take that back” “pasta night” “ok pasta night” “then i take that back”

he got back inside their now shared flat, letters still on the ground from the post man coming late this morning, the couch filled with blankets and pillows which she had brought over to make his couch bed comfortable despite her fighting with him every single night about how he should be sleeping in his bed and not the other way around

he sat on the couch, smiling at the little heart shaped pillow and quilted heavy blanket with her initials on it

as he set himself comfortably against all the cozy blankets and pillows, someone knocked on the door. that’s fast, he thought to himself.

he groaned out as he got up from the couch, opening the door to whom he thought would be y/n yet turned out to be her sister

“annabelle, what’s up?” “where is she?” she barged into his flat, looking around like an apex predator “hm, annie, you first ask if you can get in, then you get in” “where is my sister, james?” “y/n?” “do i have another sister?” “i’m just joking, annie. she went down to wills to get dinner” “good. we need to talk.” “is steve okay?” “yes, he says hi but it’s not about steve”

bucky pointed at the couch, inviting her to seat. the older sister took her jacket off, throwing it over the couch before sitting down. “you should be ashamed of yourself” “excuse me?” “my sister is clearly not going through a quiet moment and you jump in to date her?” “i am not dating y/n, annie. she’s my roommate” “roommate? you have one bedroom and you don’t even have a wardrobe!  of all the things you could’ve done to get back at me, you joke around with my sister?” “not everything is about you annabelle. she’s my roommate, that’s it” “she’s my sister. she should be with me and steve in our guest room, with her family. not with you.” “is there a problem she’s here?” “you’re lying to me!” “i’m not lying. she’s here, she came here to my house and i took her in and maybe you should’ve noticed she didn’t want to marry ben.” “how is this my fault? you spoke to her at her graduation, what did you tell her?” “nothing” “she was upset after you spoke to her” “it’s none of your business” “no. it is. she’s always had this childish crush on you and now you’re bunking together? no. tell her to go home to me and steve” “oh i’m sorry if she doesn’t want to go your sex filled home” “what’s your problem?” “i don’t want you with my sister.  so send her home.”

bucky couldn’t even argue further with annabelle before she was walking furiously out the door.

y/n came back a few minutes later, carrying a brown paper bag “will gave me free garlic bread” “did you flirt with him for it?” “i only use my female charms for free garlic bread, you know that” “annie was here” “my sister?” “yeah. she wants you home with steve and her” “oh” “she also made it very clear she doesn’t want you with me” “we’re not together” “why are we not together?”

y/n stopped in her tracks, her hands letting go the cutlery she was holding “we live together, you know i’m in love with you. why are we not together?” “you’re in love with my sister that’s why you think you’re in love with me” “you look nothing like your sister and you’re being unfair. i love you, i saw you in that stupid wedding dress 5 months ago and all i kept thinking about was how much i want to see you walking down the aisle to me.” “what?” “i’ve been beating myself up feeling guilty about being happy you ran away from your wedding but you know what? i’m happy you did because i don’t want you to marry him” “i know, you told me” “i want you to marry me” “what?” “heck let’s do it in your parents’ summer house in the hamptoms. i’ll even wear a stupid tux and i’ll work in my father’s company and ...” 

she walked up to him, hands coming up to cup his face “buck, you’re rambling” “i don’t know what else to tell you. yes i liked your sister once but i loved you for the past two years.” “good” “what do you mean?” “you don’t marry like, you marry love”

[jonnyvangelis]

brass & peaches: chp. 2

in which jonny and brian actually talk. and everything’s dusty all the time. and the author commits accent crimes. also there's a horse. 1300 words, light swearing.

Jonny squints down the road and pulls back on the reins slowly, giving a pat to the horse’s withers and sliding off in front of the main gate- a rusting sign hangs over top, ironwork bent to read,

BRASSMITH & SON

The scruffy man stretches, a hand coming to press at his lower back, the second coming up to his mouth to call out an “Anyone home? It’s Jonny V- d’Ville, heard you needed work.” He squints again, cursing his lack of a hat (though he spent his hat money on food for the horse).

A copper puff pops up from the orchard just the other side of the fence- then the head attached, Jonny registers that it’s hair, and Brian scowls for a moment before he recognizes the man and horse (from his description in a letter a few days back) and a grin splits his face. He waves Jonny over and calls something that gets lost on the wind.

Jonny stands frozen for a moment, blinking.

Oh no.

He’s cuter than a fucking puppy.

And Jonny realizes a half-second later that the man with the golden retriever grin who greets him as his feet take him through the gate is metal, and his eyebrows shoot up as he takes a step back. He regrets it immediately as Brian’s smile falters, and Jonny steadies himself, swallowing hard. He offers a hand when he’s close enough- firm, jaw set tight, and nods. “You’re Brian, yeah?” He lowers his voice purposefully and levels Brian with a look that’s probably meant to be tough.

The taller man tips his hat low over his eyes and nods curtly (if Jonny didn’t know any better, he’d say the man was blushing. How the fuck the bastard can blush, Jonny’s not sure.) “That I am,” and Jonny’s hit with another shock— Brian’s accent is English with a twang matching his own, like Irish but a bit to the left. “I meant to send you a letter ‘bout it, but you showed up before I could send it. My father ain’t around this summer, something came up business-wise and he made a run for Cincinnati. You might have more work than I can pay you for, if you want to dip early, I—”

“It’s alright, man, I don’t got anywhere else to go. Bed and food on the table’s all I ask.” Jonny offers his sweetest smile (a cringing little thing, his face wasn’t made for subtlety) and fidgets with the reins still held in his hand, unsure how to properly placate the anxious man towering over him.

Brian takes a shaky breath and brings his hat down to his chest, running his free hand through his hair, and looks down at Jonny with a questioning look. “You’re sure? I wouldn’t want you feeling undervalued, your work’s worth proper pay.” 

“Promise I won’t sell myself short, being this far from home’s payment enough.” Jonny’s smile turns genuine. Brian seems to soothe, then, his shoulders losing some of their tension, though his easy smile doesn’t quite return.

“I’ll… show you to your room then, yeah?” Brian offers his hand and Jonny’s brow furrows before he links elbows with the taller man, letting him lead on with a nod.

(Jonny lets the horse into the paddock first, pulling all her tack off and making sure she’s alright with Brian’s mare before leaving her be.) 

The house is dusty, once-white siding now chipped with decades of wear from the valley’s wind. The porch is covered, curtains sit in the window, and a few pots of perennial flowers bloom and buzz by the railing; it all leans to one side if Jonny squints (and he’s always squinting without a damn hat), lists just barely to the right and brings the tin roof down with it. A squat barn sits a little ways down the path, wider and taller than the house by a good fifty feet, and Jonny can hear the huff and bustle of the cows before he can smell them. Chickens peck at the path and dry grass in front of the house— fluffy little bastards that only come halfway up his calf and orange as the hair of the man he clings to. Their run, he figures, is at the back of the house.

Brian shoulders the door open with a creak from its hinges and a soft grunt (hangs his hat on the rack), leading Jonny through a small front room and heading for a hallway just past the ice box. There’s a gas stove, counters that were probably at one time shiny, tile floor in the corner that could, politely, be called a kitchen. An overstuffed couch sits facing the kitchen table, a comfy-looking armchair opposite it, and a rug that looks older than the two men combined protecting the wood floor from the heavy furniture best it can. Atop the shoddy coffee table is… Jonny figures it’s a radio, with the speaker in the front like that, but it’s small and boxy and looks to have a handle and all manner of dials and whatnot. Between the couch and kitchen sits a tiny round breakfast table, two chairs, and a mason jar full of pressed flowers. His attention is dragged away from the living room when he realizes Brian is looking down at him with an amused concern, and he startles some, trying to drag his attention back to what Brian meant to show him.

The room is small, but the bed is big. He takes a tentative step forward, Brian releasing his arm at the barest tug, and he takes a seat, eyes widening then falling shut as he feels himself sink just enough to be comfortable. He lets himself fall back, his legs still hanging off the bed, and lets out a soft groan, wriggling his shoulders a bit in an effort to bury himself in the soft fabric. The quilt is Heaven on a sore back, and he hasn’t felt such soft a surface in weeks. He cracks an eye open when he notices a strange huff, and blushes hard upon realizing that Brian’s trying in earnest not to laugh. He sits upright like a sprung trap and hikes his shoulders up, swallows hard, and tries to stammer out something about second hand saddles when Brian just shakes his head and smiles that easy puppy-grin and placates, “You’ve been riding a while, from the sound of it. You deserve the rest.”

Jonny opens his mouth to protest, but can’t think of a proper one to give. “I… could do with a nap.”

“Then take one, I’ll make lunch and wake you when it’s done.” Brian takes a step back and rests his hand on the doorframe, walking out the room with a nod as Jonny sets about stripping some layers, kicking his boots off by the dresser and closing the door so he can get his shirt off and dust his jeans nearly clean.

He winces at his reflection in the standing mirror. His long hair’s a ratty mess from riding in the wind so long— Hell, it’s a problem that it’s long at all, he’d had it shaved back with Jack— his goatee’s nearly a proper beard, and his undershirt’s a sweaty mess. His arms are a good two shades pinker from the elbow down (same with his neck and face), not that it’s any surprise, but he reckons he looks pitiful. He scrubs his hands over his face, instantly regrets it as the rough skin on his palms grates on his tender cheeks, and tugs off his undershirt, falling on top of the blankets of the bed and curling up for as long a nap as he can manage.

He rests easy for the first time in a long time.

[grunklesinner]

First, just want to say love your fanfictions! And I was wondering if you could write a request? Where Ford and the reader stargazing on top of the mystery shack, and Ford realizes how beautiful the reader is? If you can or want to. Thank you! 😊

a/n; I don’t know how long this has been sitting in my inbox I’m sorry. 😭 But I did want to write something for this regardless to get myself out of a loooong writer’s block. It’s 2 AM and this is unedited lol. Also thanks love! 💜

title; meteor shower

word count; roughly around 950 words

ford pines x reader (ofc and a biiiit self indulgent lol)

——————————

“Ford!”

You call out excitedly and he’s already a step ahead of you, grabbing the two mugs from your hands so you can climb up onto the roof. Eager to join Ford you quickly ease yourself up past the sign and onto the ridge of the shack.

“Be careful climbing over here, there may or may not be some ice patches under the snow.” Ford cautioned while placing the hot drinks down on the flat ledge of the shack’s dormer roof. “Actually hold on, I’ll help you — “

He glances up and yells your name in panic, seeing you attempting to ease yourself down towards him on the other side of the shack. You yelp in surprise when you loose your footing and slip down the roof through the snow; heart rate spiking as you watch the ground get closer and closer. Before you unintentionally get yourself launched off the side of the shack Ford grabs you and pulls you into his chest.

“T-Thanks,” you finally breathe out shakily.

He tightened his hold around you, as if you’d slip right through his grasp. “Are you alright?”

You peek up at him, face now completely flushed of embarrassment. “Y-Yeah, I’m okay.”

Ford released a sigh of relief and eased his hold on you. You brush off all the snow that stuck to your coat and body before taking a seat, thanking Ford as he sat beside you and gave you your mug of hot chocolate. Neither of you then speak, basking in the beauty of the scenery around the shack.

Despite how damn cold it is out in the middle of winter, it’s worth the breath-taking views of the untouched glistening snow below and the luminous sky above. You gaze longingly up at the stars, jealous yet fascinated by the beauty of the starry skies. Tonight you were hoping to catch a glimpse of a meteor shower, and wanted to share the moment with a specific six-fingered nerd who you’ve been pining after pretty much since you met him. You weren’t sure if he felt the same way about you, but you enjoyed being in his company nonetheless. You treasured every moment you two had together.

You adjust to the cold and start to shiver as the adrenaline — from nearly sliding off the roof — wears off, and you take a sip from your mug in hopes it’ll help keep your body warm. Ford immediately notices your discomfort and carefully drapes a blanket around your shoulders.

“Better?” He asks you softly with a small smile.

You pull the large piece of quilted fabric closer to your body with a nod, feeling your cheeks burn pink.

“I hope we don’t have to wait much longer before we see some shooting stars — I’d hate for us to turn into giant icicles out here.” You snicker with a grin.

Ford laughs. “That would be unfortunate, now wouldn’t it?”

You hum softly. “Well, even if we don’t see anything — I’m content being able to see the night sky so clear tonight.” You bring your knees to your chest and glance back up to the stars. You start mumbling about the various constellations you recognize, unbeknownst to the fact that Ford was focusing his attention on you.

Your face lights up when you suddenly see something bright fly across the night sky. You point up to the sky enthusiastically, hoping it grabs your companion’s attention. “Ford, look! There’s one!”

His breath gets caught in his throat when he sees you smile — he takes in the light flushing of your cheeks from the cold, the sparkle in your eyes from excitement and feels his heart melt — he’s completely enamored by you. He has no idea why someone like you would be willing to hang out with someone like him. Someone who’s spent so many decades away from this dimension, done things he wasn’t proud of, and how aloof and awkward he was (at least in the beginning of your interactions). But somehow he quickly warmed up to you — he was drawn to your magnetic and caring personality. You were patient, smart in your ways, and kind. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever understand why you’ve chosen to stick around him, but he wasn’t complaining. Not in the slightest.

Without thinking Ford runs a hand through your hair, brushing a strand behind your ear. You glance back at him, eyes wide.

“A-Ah!” He quickly flinches back, as if burned. “I just noticed — y-you had some snow in your hair a-and — “

He abruptly stops talking when he scans your face again, noticing a...hopeful expression?

You begin to reach toward him but briefly hesitate. What is he thinking? You want to hope that he has any sort of feelings towards you, but a part of you holds back out of fear of being rejected. You’ve never been good at reading other people when it came to romantic feelings. You mentally curse yourself for second guessing and questioning things, as you always tend to overthink everything when it comes to romance. With a deep breath you push the fear down and wrap his hand in your trembling ones.

Your face flushes for the ‘hundredth’ time that night. “F-Ford, I — “

You’re swiftly cut off by the feeling of his lips against yours. A shiver of pleasure runs down your spine as you feel his other hand cup your cheek, and you rub circles graciously into his wrapped one.

You bring your hands to his cheeks when you finally part, eyes filled with emotion and wonder. He smiles at you fondly, his own eyes filled with warmth and affection.

You’re glad you took the chance.

[unholyeverything]

Hello. Today I wanted to talk about something that has bothered me ever since I drew my last comic. When I had to figure out what their school uniformes looked like from the back.

And then I noticed how atrocious their clothes are in general. And I’m not just speaking about their style. Because that’s actually decent.

I’m talking about the patterns and how these things would have to be assembled.

The poor seemstresses that had to work on these……

Some background on myself and why I feel allowed to complain: I started sewing my own clothes with homemade patterns in 2014 and now that I’m studying Textile Design with my main focus on fashion and pattern making I had the opportunity to take actual sewing classes with professional instructions. And I’m usually able to draw out patterns from just looking at the clothes in question.

 But these things are just messed up.

 Let’s start with their goddamed collars. These things would be such a pain in the ass to draft and sewing them would be even worse. Because why make a regular lapel collar when you can make pattern pieces that look like exhibit A.

Like good luck trying get this shit lined. Because these jackets are lined, fully from what it looks like. And noone should make fancy jackets without a lining.

 Right side is equally horrendous. That front collar thing that should be the other side of the lapel. Looks like it’s a separate piece. Which might look nice on the first glance.

But how would one attach that to the back?????

Only sane explanation with the collar of the left side overlapping with the shoulder seam would be that it would simply be topstiched in place. But I’m not sure if that won’t restrict movement by blocking the shoulder???

View B for more details.

 Things that are nice to see: Buttons and buttonholes are drawn correctly. With two lines of buttons on jackets like the one closer tot he side seam is always fake, with the button holes not actually working and just being decoartion. There are push buttons to ensure proper closure on the other side, easier to close than normal buttons, though you most certainly won’t need that much.

 First the zippers in the sleeves gave me a headache too, but they aren’t as bad as I thought they where as these sleeve seem to be simple one pattern piece sleeves with the zipper just being inserted in their side seam which is easily doable, see C.

 Once you got the outer layer figured out, lining them shouldn’t be that hard. Don’t forget to add a slit fort he ones being knee lengh. You need one, trust me.

Facing fort he collar pieces should be doable by just tracing the outer layers until the second row of buttons. Don’t forget to sew on the fancy golden trim first.

 Next, have fun making your own quilted fabric and sew on little dangling beeds by hand. Will take ages.

No idea why there is a piece of outer fabric attaced to the lining around the sleeves. Unecessary.

 I love the white topstiching though! I’m a big fan of topstiching.

 And finally let’s talk about their capes. The only way I would be able to explain them sitting where they are and starting how they do is that there is a safety pin involved. Like just why are they there in the first place.

Leave the capes to superman. For real. There is also nowhere to tuck them in when their belts are undone????? More safety pins?????

 I’ll have a frame with all the hypothetical pattern pieces attached.

Maybe some cosplayers will benefit from my rambling…..

 I just wanted to combine my two interest for once, and I will trash all their clothes. Trust me.

[fenheart87]

Sprint Challenge 2 - Colorwheel

The silence echoed in the room, Marinette and Adrien were glaring at each other, a battle of wills making the silence oppressive and settled like a heavy weight on the other occupants of the room. Juleka never glanced up from her phone, Rose watched the heated debate-turned-argument unfold and Nino was fighting to keep Alix from adding fuel to the fire. Dingo had just left to pick up Luka and the rest of Kitty Section from the repair shop.

“You are unbelievable, seriously Adrien!”

“How did they even get into this argument again?" 

"No Idea I place my bets on Marinette.” Juleka murmured, eyes flicking to the arguing pair and back to her phone.

“Not even your own brother? So does that mean that you are going to bet Against me?” Alix chimed in, somehow holding resigned Nino in a headlock.

“Leave them alone dude, they will figure it out when they stop listening to respond and listen to talk.”

“Would you just stop being stubborn-”

“Me?! Pot meet kettle, you stop being stubborn!”

“Hey does anybody know what started all this like they seem that they might try to kill each other…” Rose cut in, concern growing as the quarrel was getting louder and louder. 

“Why are you being so dramatic over this?!” Marinette was well past being just plain worked up, rolling her eyes with a huff.

“Because it doesn’t make sense Marinette.” Adrien shot back, crossing his arms again.

“It makes perfect sense! It you would just do your job and let me do mine-” The designer exploded, pointing aggressively with her words.

“Not when you don’t make sense!” Adrien interrupted again, frowning hard enough that his resemblance to Gabriel uncanny.

“How?! How doesn’t it? I’ve been staring at these with you for at least six hours! I need to know which shades!”

“Why can’t fashion just have some good old color names, why do they always have to be so weird and unique and why can’t we just call them simple colors as what they are! Blue, dark blue, light blue I get. Cerulean, regal and bahama are just different shades of the same blues! They don’t need ten names for ten colors that look exactly the same.”

All eyes snapped to the quarreling pair, a dramatic offended gasp from the other pink person matched Marinette’s outraged face. Dingo and Luka slid into the room quietly as to not draw atttention to themselves. She straightened to her full height and Adrien shrunk a bit but didn’t fully back down.

“Uh Lulu, you might want to save the groom…”

“Nah, he deserves it.”

“You take that back right now Agreste or I quit and you can explain to Kagami why she has to pick a new wedding dress!”

“They’re just colors Marinette.”

“Oi! Lime green and electric green ill have you know are two completely different colors!” Dingo chimed in to defend Marinette.

Heaving a big sigh and rolling his green eyes, the blond admitted, “I just don’t see what the big deal is, that’s all. It’s just for our wedding, one event of many that we will share together.”

“Adrien Michelle Quincy Salvatore Athanase Agretste I will end you if you do not take back those words right now!” Rose threw her notebook she had long abandoned into her chair and marched over the taller blonde, blue eyes narrowed and frown marring her pixie like face. Adrien glanced between the two women and stepped back, growing more and more nervous.

Luka moved closer, sliding in between the scared lamb and lionesses about to tear into his hide. “Look I admit most of the time I can’t tell the difference between Tiger and Tangerine, even though Marinette uses both colors often. What I do know is she has a passion and drive for colors, fabrics and sewing, like I do for my music. Just means while we see pink and light pink, she sees mauve and baby pink just like we can hear different keys in different remakes.”

“Ah I didn’t think about it that way I guess you’re right… I’m sorry Marinette I wasn’t trying to be insensitive or a jerk..”

“You’re forgiven only if you forgive me. Im sorry too, we are all stressed and I shouldn’t have started that argument. This is a big day and while I know you and Kagami won’t notice the little details I put into this, I just want it to be as special as possible. The cocoa color was your mom wore for her wedding, that’s why I wanted to include it so she could be included too. The pinks are rose and myself, Luka is hard to pin down on which blue, I still think Azure and Cyan is a great idea mixed if you trust me to dye the fabric.”

“There’s a whole story hiding in this…” Adrien moved closer to the quilted banner that Marinette had been pestering him about for days.

“Nino and Alya,” she pointed to other color swatches, “Chloe and of course our heros to help watch over and keep you both safe… That’s why I’m being a pain, your colors are red and gold with hints of blacks and whites but this is my wedding gift for the both of you. Kagami was upset she cannot wear her chosen wedding dress but I was able to get free reign for the after party and we might need an EMT at the party.”

“Marinette… I love it and thank you for being so thoughtful. I don’t know the color names but I think I can at least pick out the colors with the swatches”

Marinette sniffled and pulled Adrien into a hug, surprising the ex-model for a moment before he returned it. Rose joined in, dragging Juleka and Alix, Nino wandering over on his own.

“Group hug!” Dingo shoved Luka in behind Marinette and with the help of Ivan, squished everyone together until they broke apart in laughter.

“So Marinette, what are your dream wedding colors?”

“Periwinkle.” The color choice slipped out as she stretched, meeting Luka’s frozen blue eyes. “Pink and blue make purple after all!”

[cosplayinamerica]

AUTHOR INTERVIEW : Jedimanda

I have seen a lot of cosplay books in my time (hey, I even released two books myself!) and I can honestly say that if you are interested in starting out in cosplay, this book is for you. JediManda’s new book Creative Cosplay is actually two books in one. First is Cosplay and Convention 101 for those new to the scene. The second is an introduction to sewing.

EJEN: Cosplay and convention 101 is a great idea. I have seen many topics about that on blogs, YouTube but I have never seen it in a book format. I know you’ve done plenty of panels in your day. Was the book based on panels you’ve done in the past and just expanded?

JEDIMANDA: Oh yes, absolutely. My editor and I decided that we should take the book in a direction of a “Cosplay 101” type panel but in book form. I definitely pulled inspiration and my notes from panels that I used to do.

EJEN: I understand you were discovered at GenCon 2018 at a panel. Tell me exactly what happened and why you at first declined at first?

JEDIMANDA: I couldn’t believe it! That convention was nuts. When my book agent reached out to me to pitch the book deal, she said she saw me at one of my panels there. It was so crazy because I struggled at that convention, I didn’t think my panels were the best. I initially declined because I’m not a writer. I went to school for Fine Art and writing was not my forte. I struggled to write papers in college. But they convinced me that the majority of their authors are in the same boat and that they have experience helping out our “artist firsts, writers second” type authors. There was a lot of hand hold in the beginning then I got the hang of it! I really enjoy writing now, but I still love run-on sentences.

EJEN: What was the writing process like and what is it like working with a team from the publisher? 

JEDIMANDA: It was marvelous honestly. After the first quarter of struggling and feeling that imposter syndrome sink in, I crunched out most of the writing during the summer of 2019. Then the editing started and that took a long time. I had the best editor to work with, Beth, she and I vibed hard throughout the rest of the book. Both of us really enjoyed working with each other and she enjoyed learning about cosplay in the meantime from me. 

EJEN: What was the most difficult part of the book to work on?

JEDIMANDA: The fabric chapter, that was A LOT of research. I know what I know with fabric but I had to relearn a lot of content that I studied in school plus new fabrics that I do not work with everyday.

EJEN: Since the book came out during the pandemic, how did that affect the roll out of the book in relation to the marketing aspect?

JEDIMANDA: It affected it a lot. We (publishing company and I) had a mini book tour planned on top of the social media book tour we planned. I was supposed to present to sewing and quilting conventions and unfortunately that all canceled. We will still do it once conventions start back up, but it’s going to be a bit. Plus I wanted to take my books to our conventions and talk on panels about the book. (throws hands in the air) Oh well, soon we will be back. 

Photo: @aleestudios 

EJEN: You've been sewing since 2008 and cosplaying since 2012. Name some of your greatest hits and tell me some of the more interesting responses at conventions.

JEDIMANDA: Greatest hits! I love it. Definitely a top hit was my Queen Amidala and FlameMaiden group meetup at Star Wars Celebration 2019 in Chicago. That caused a stir in the best way. So many people stopped to video and photo us, it was incredible! We had 19 handmaidens! Another greatest hit of mine is winning the regional championship in my Anastasia gown at the The Crown Championships of Cosplay in 2018. I was so shocked, I couldn’t believe it. I had the best time twirling and smiling on that stage. I remember when I exited the stage I had a bit of a headache from all the twirling. Turns out, twirling works!

Find more at Jedimanda.com

Photo: @theportraitdude

[thatbanjobusiness]

Salty Dog Blues Before Flatt & Scruggs

Old Salty Dog Blues is a Flatt & Scruggs classic and today the song is considered a staple of bluegrass music. However, bluegrass itself is a recent genre, with its inception typically dated 1945. Many songs from its early repertoire came from other sources, both popular and folk.

Above you will hear a compilation of Salty Dog Blues from recordings between 1924 and 1950 (ending with the Flatt & Scruggs version). Below the cut I will provide more details of each selection you hear. This is not a comprehensive compilation; for instance, I don’t have Lead Belly’s 1948 audio here. However, what’s incredibly fun about this recording is how DIVERSE the music is. And how incredibly NOT bluegrass it is.

Like many people, I became familiar with Salty Dog Blues through the Flatt & Scruggs version recorded in 1950. The song was catchy enough for me to love it as it was, but listening to the lyrics further piqued my interest. I realized I was assuming what a “salty dog” was through the lyrics rather than comprehending a precise meaning. But looking at the lyrics for clues was hard. There’s a narrative, but it feels just off-kilter enough I suspected the song had folk origin. Some folk tune variations can sound like the verses were sewn together haphazardly like patches of different fabrics on a quilt. It makes sense, when you consider how people would’ve gotten the words. Passing lyrics through oral tradition can create curious, wonky results and fascinating variations and divergences. It’s a game of generational telephone. Clearly, I had to go beyond the Flatt & Scruggs version in order to decipher my term.

And so. I found myself. Deep-diving this tune’s origin.

There hasn’t been a second wasted in my life fishing through this. Holy wow have I run into a jackpot of wildly fun things! I still have so much more I could look into. I had suspicions of what I’d find, but the following lyrics posted into a forum went way beyond expectations:

Two old maids laying in the grass, One had her finger up the other one's ass Honey, let me be your salty dog!

Welp. If I hadn’t been interested already, I would have been THEN. And the sexual explicitness... and other fun times... just kept COMING (wordplay intended here).

So! Below cut, I want to go further into the meaning of “salty dog” and listen to how the song developed from a blues tune to the 1950 Flatt & Scruggs country song. It would require a whole other post to go past 1950, so that’s why I’ve restricted my range from the earliest recorded tunes to the moment it entered bluegrass.

1. What *IS* a Salty Dog?

The first entertainment I got was seeking a definition for “salty dog.” The OED gave nothing to me, sadly, so I was left to peruse other sources. Reading forums, interviews, articles, and more, I encountered a hilariously diverse array of proposed definitions. I got peeps saying:

It’s a type of soft drink.

It’s a type of cocktail using grapefruit juice and gin or vodka. It’s served in a glass with a salted rim.

It’s the name of a specific bar in North Carolina.

It’s a medicinal solution from early frontier communities, especially in eastern Appalachia. A sausage soaked in brine solution was placed under people’s clothes during winter as a counter to pneumonia and flu.

It’s an ornery sailor, mariner, or pirate who’s spent a large portion of their life at sea. Just like a sea dog or an old salt.

It’s any person who’s really good with their work. A tough fellow, since salty can mean “full of spirit and fight.”

It’s a sweetheart, someone you love, or a favorite person. Applying salt to hunting dogs was believed to keep ticks away, and because salt was a rare commodity in those times, you’d only apply it to your favorite and most valuable dog.

It’s an illicit lover or libidinous man or woman, someone getting sex the wrong way.

It’s a pimp.

It’s a reference to oral sex. Have sex with one individual, then shortly later have someone perform oral on you.

The last one, which was embellished by Urban Dictionary (thanks, Urban Dictionary) could likely be an instance of linguistic pejoration, in which a word’s meaning “worsens” semantically over time. That said, I’ve seen everyday people in forums comment that in the 1940s and 50s in their communities, it did refer to oral sex. I’ll believe their testimony. So, contemporary to the time Flatt & Scruggs recorded, the more crude sexual sides appear to have been in vernacular use. It’s likely most if not all of the definitions proposed are real meanings of “salty dog,” but clearly the song Salty Dog Blues isn’t referring to all simultaneously.

Bluegrass musicians have not always been helpful providing a definition. For instance, Curly Seckler, one member of Flatt & Scruggs, proposed the benign soft drink suggestion. He said in this moment onstage in 1985:

Curly Seckler: I found out what a salty dog was. I think I was down here before I didn’t know, but I do now. I went home here, I believe it was last year, they had a big day down there. And, course I went over through the Smokies over there, and I stopped over there at Wiley Morris’s garage. . . . And we sang Salty Dog Blues and some of the old numbers together. But I asked him, I said, “Wiley, I’d like to know before I pass on, what in the world is a salty dog?” See, they wrote the Salty Dog Blues, him and Zeke. He said, “Well, North Carolina, years and years ago, had a drink they called salty dog. Now that’s a pop, a soda. And I said, “Well, I’m from North Carolina, but I don’t remember that.” But he said that’s why that got them the idea of writing a song called—”

And then, hilariously, Curly is distracted by his band, who’ve been whispering to each other the entire time and grinning, and calls out, “What am I hearing?” I’d like to imagine they were talking about the real meaning and Curly picked up the chatter’s more scandalous side.

After all, Zeke and Wiley Morris did not write Salty Dog Blues, and their story seems to be a coverup to defend their writer’s credit (which for the record is legitimate... a novel arrangement was given writer’s credit frequently in these times) and a polite way to get around the meaning of what a “salty dog” was. An article written by Wayne Erbsen shows that the brothers themselves gave varying definitions of the term:

Wiley explained that “I have a different definition of a salty dog than Zeke has. Back when we were kids down in Old Fort we would see a girl we liked and say “I’d like to be her salty dog.” There also used to be a drink you could get up in Michigan. All you had to do was say “Let me have a Salty Dog,” and they’d pour you one.” Zeke remembers that “I got the idea when we went to a little old honky tonk just outside of Canton which is in North Carolina. We went to play at a school out beyond Waynesville somewhere and we stopped at this place. They sold beer and had slot machines. At that time they were legal in North Carolina. We got in there after the show and got to drinking that beer and playing the slot machines with nickels, dimes and quarters. I think we hit three or four jackpots. Boy, here it would come! You know you had a pile of money when you had two handfuls of change. The name of that place was the “Salty Dog,” and that’s where I got the idea for the song. There’s actually more verses to it than me and Wiley sing, a lot more verses.”

As I and others who’ve read the article noticed, the fact that the Morris Brothers admitted there were many more verses... is indirect admittance of folk origin. The Morris Brothers were professional musicians in the 1930s, their recording of Salty Dog Blues was recorded September 29, 1938... and our earliest audio versions of the song come from the 1920s. There are many recordings of this song that predate the Morris Brothers. Still, even in a documentary from the 1970s, they maintained their story they wrote it.

But the song’s true origin outside the Morris Brothers allowed me to expand the scope of my investigation. It was time to peep into the alternate lyrics from earlier versions, and hope that those gave me a better understanding of the song and what a salty dog in this context meant.

2. The Lyrics of Salty Dog Blues

What the Morris Brothers and Flatt & Scruggs sang were fairly tame. However, the lyrics still involved a gun being shot and a person singing the following lines:

Looky here Sal, I know you Run down stocking and a worn out shoe Honey, let me be your Salty Dog

Let me be your Salty Dog Or I won't be your man at all Honey, let me be your Salty Dog

“I won’t be your man at all” in the chorus is a good hint of what a salty dog is supposed to be. It wouldn’t make sense to replace the term “salty dog” with mariner. I suspected from the start this song’s meaning veered toward the concept of a lover, and alternate versions of the lyrics prove that the case, oftentimes in wonderfully blunt or creative verses.

As I was investigating these recordings and their artists, I ran into information discussing the early years recording Salty Dog Blues, including times from before it was recorded. Jazz musician Bill Johnson (1872-1972) had his band playing this song circa or prior to the 1910s, and in an excerpt from the book Early Blues: The First Stars of Blues Guitar, I read:

Papa Charlie’s follow-up release, the ragtimey, eight-bar “Salty Dog Blues,” made him a recording star. . . . Old-time New Orleans musicians from Buddy Bolden’s era recalled hearing far filthier versions of “Salty Dog Blues” long before Papa Charlie’s recording.

Papa Charlie Jackson recorded his version of Salty Dog Blues in 1924 and Buddy Bolden (1877-1931) was popular with his band in New Orleans from 1900-1907. So... what were these filthier lyrics from the early twentieth century?

I want to go back to the lyrics I quoted at the beginning of this post... “Two old maids laying in the grass / One had her finger up the other one's ass. Honey, let me be your salty dog!” The individual who shared these lyrics on a forum said they heard Sam Bush sing that at Rockygrass in 2002. Maybe that was a recent permutation. However, I found variations on this lyric submitted independently by others, indicating this wouldn’t have been Sam creating lyrics out of nothing. Some posts, I don’t know if they were serious or not... “Two necrophiliacs lying in a bed / Each one a-wishin' that the other was dead,” but there’s too many similarities across what I’m seeing. Other individuals said they sang lyrics like these in college parties: “Two old maids, laying in bed / One rolled over to the other and said / Honey, let me be your salty dog.” And the Kingston Trio, whose music was folk-oriented and part of the Folk Revival movement, in 1964 sang in their version of Salty Dog Blues, “There were two old ladies sitting in the sand / Each one wishing the other was a man.”

Digging deeper, I found other folk songs contained variations on the “Two old maids laying in a bed / sand” concept. This discovery is in line with authentic folk lyrics. Remember that folk music is a game of telephone, and sometimes the same verses are found in two or more songs. I found several variations of Brown’s Ferry Blues with this couplet, some of them coming from Folk Revival musicians.

These lyrics give a starting point both to how Salty Dog Blues can contain bawdier concepts, and what a salty dog is.

But lyrics from Salty Dog Blues recordings in the 1920s and 1930s give even more reliable indication. Clara Smith’s 1926 version includes:

Oh, won't you let me be your salty dog? I don't want to be your gal at all. You salty dog, you salty dog.

Oh honey babe, let me be your salty dog, Salty dog, oh, you salty dog.

It's just like looking for a needle there in the sand Trying to find a woman that hasn't got a man. Salty Dog oh you salty dog.

Her lyrics also include a couplet I found in many of the early versions:

God made a woman, he made her kinda funny Lips around her mouth sweet as any honey, Oh, you salty dog, oh, you salty dog.

It says a lot: a verse about romantic love was one of the most oft repeated couplets across Salty Dog Blues variations. Papa Charlie Jackson included that verse, as well as these others:

Lord, it ain't but the one thing grieve my mind, All these women and none is mine.

Now, scaredest I ever been in my life, Uncle Bud like to caught me kissing his wife.

And for those of you who aren’t familiar with the sentential construction, “liked to” means “almost.” Uncle Bud almost caught me kissing his wife. This is a song about a lover, and in one of these verses, the lover’s doing something taboo.

Some forum dudes claimed Mississippi John Hurt and his friends sang a line like this one below, even though they also said it didn’t make any recordings:

Well, your salty dog, he comes around When your sugar daddy's outta town Baby, let me be your salty dog

And there’s yet more elaboration about what a salty dog is in verses in Afro-Creole singer Lizzie Miles’s 1952 recording, which we do have:

Mardi Gras is a dream You can meet all those Creole queens They’re salty dogs, yes, salty dogs

If you want to blow your cares away Just walk on in the Vieux Carré You’ll find salty dogs, yes, salty dogs

Never had no name, never went to school But when it comes to loving, I ain’t no fool I’m a salty dog, yes, a salty dog

I’ve got sixteen men in love with me But the man I love ain’t legally free He’s a salty dog, yes, he’s a salty dog

Granted, I *am* sifting through a huge storm of verses and intentionally picking ones that match this narrative. But these are all lyrics that show a wonderfully off-color, sexual side to Salty Dog Blues. This song sure as hell ain’t singing about soda pop or sailing.

3. The Earliest Recordings of Salty Dog Blues

So. In my compilation you’re listening to, what is it you’re hearing?

Between the 1920s and 1940s, “race records” were records from African-American musicians. The term would be used to describe the blues, gospel, etc. that these musicians performed. OKeh Records was the first company to use that term in 1922. Also during the 1920s, another line of records, “hillbilly” records, began; this was used to describe what was perceived as rural white musician fiddle and string band music.

These record companies, however, were separating music by race somewhat artificially. There were plenty of Black musicians playing string band music, for instance, during these times. The early history of American country music involves an amalgamation of musical ideas from many demographics sharing and adopting ideas from one to another and back again. When you listen to the compilation I made of early versions of Salty Dog Blues, you may hear a difference between the white and Black musicians, likely because of that artificial distinction I mentioned.

Still, there’s a fascinating amount of overlap. I think it’s particularly interesting to pay attention to how the melodic material varies; it’s the same core melody, but there’s certainly differences. Listening to the variations can get you a sense of how folk music is a wild world of branching versions. There’s different strains, with both the melody morphing as it gets passed person to person, and the lyrics morphing as it gets passed person to person.

Specifically, I took my samples from the following recordings:

Charlie Jackson - Released 29 Nov 1924. Papa Charlie Jackson was the first commercially successful male blues artist who played both fingerstyle and with a flatpick on his guitjo. He was born in 1887 in New Orleans. Even when he was producing his records in the early twentieth century, his music would have been old-fashioned to listeners and given people an ear to what African American music sounded like before the turn of the century. He’s similar to Lead Belly in this regard, whose 1948 recording of Salty Dog Blues I did not include in the audio compilation. Jackson’s music was also in that vague area that leaned toward hillbilly in the early days before the race records / hillbilly records division became distinct. 

Lem Fowler’s Washboard Wonders - Released 30 Dec 1925. Between 1922 and 1932 this jazz musician recorded 57 songs and 23 player piano rolls in New York and Chicago. A composer, most of his recordings feature his own work; Salty Dog Blues is one of three pieces recorded with his band that is not his own. I love this recording.

Clara Smith - Dated 26 May 1926. The first commercially successful blues singers were women. Clara Blues was an early classic female blues singer, a genre sometimes also referred to as vaudeville blues that combined traditional folk blues and urban theater music. This native of South Carolina excelled at emotional slow drag blues.

Freddie Keppard and His Jazz Cardinals - recorded July 1926. Freddie Keppard was a New Orleans musician. Interestingly enough, Papa Charlie Jackson is in this version as well, this time played with a full band, and you can hear someone declare “Papa Charlie done sung that song!” at the end.

Allen Brothers - Recorded 7 April 1927. I think this is the first recording of Salty Dog Blues by white musicians we have. Born and raised in Tennessee, Austin and Lee Allen were an early hillbilly duo popular in the 1920s and 1930s. Austin played banjo; Lee played guitar and kazoo. They were influenced by local jazz and blues artists as they were growing up. It’s interesting to note that Salty Dog Blues came out of their first recording session and became a hit, selling over 18,000 copies. And this band, the first white hokum blues musicians (so I’ve seen claimed), were accidentally issued first as a race record by mistake.

McGee Brothers - Recorded 11 May 1927; released Jul 1927. Sam and Kirk McGee were white old-time / hillbilly musicians from Tennessee who performed on the Grand Ole Opry starting in 1926. Sam learned blues techniques from Black railroad workers and street musicians, and the duo would adapt blues and ragtime pieces into string band music. I LOVE this version of Salty Dog Blues; while it squarely hits the “hillbilly” genre, some of the minor melodic fragments mirror what Black blues musician Kokomo Arnold sang.

Stripling Brothers - Recorded 10 Sep 1934. Fiddler Charlie Stripling and guitarist Ira Stripling were born in the 1890s in Alabama. They’re an old-time hillbilly music duo and Charlie Stripling is considered an important old-time fiddler. Their earliest recordings reflect what they learned at home; later recordings contained increasing pop influences. Salty Dog Blues is one of their later recordings; their last release was from 1936. I would love to know more about where they got this version of the song, as I feel its melody is diverges more than the others recordings in this time period.

Kokomo Arnold - 1937. Mentioned above. Kokomo Arnold was a left-handed slide blues guitarist from Georgia.

Morris Brothers - First recorded 29 Sep 1938; released 21 Dec 1938. Second version recorded 1945. I’ve already mentioned the Morris Brothers, but there’s more information you need to know. Zeke, Wiley, and George Morris were hillbilly musicians from North Carolina popular in the 1930s. The Morris Brothers was also the band in which now-famed banjo picker Earl Scruggs had his first professional job. Scruggs played with them about eight months in the late 1930s or early 1940s. If you listen to the full Morris Brothers, it’s obvious Earl learned it from them; Flatt & Scruggs keep everything from the lyrics, harmony choices, and instrumental break points the same as what you hear here. But the Morris Brothers’s version of the song is rather original compared to everything else in this compilation, which is probably why they managed a writer’s credit for it.

Flatt & Scruggs - Recorded 20 Oct 1950; released 1 May 1952. Earl Scruggs would have brought Salty Dog Blues to the band he was now heading, Flatt & Scruggs and the Foggy Mountain Boys. This song was often sung as a trio in concerts when their usual lead vocalist, Lester Flatt, was taking a break. Their band rotated singers, performers, and other forms of variety in their radio, television, and stage shows, but such repertoire never made it onto official Flatt & Scruggs records. This record is, as far as I remember, the only instance in which another musician besides Lester Flatt sings both the verses and lead. That singer is their fiddler, Benny Sims. In later performances and recordings of Salty Dog Blues by Flatt & Scruggs, Lester Flatt took his usual role singing.

I find it interesting to also note the early musicians’ origins. Everyone came from the South. New Orleans especially appeared to have old widespread use of the song. I haven’t had time to listen to see if the musicians’ home location correlates to similarity in lyrics and melodic structure, but that would be hella fun to do sometime, too.

But! I have already fished through the song enough and given you a giant essay. Maybe at a later point I’ll have to entertain myself more and keep digging into Salty Dog Blues.

[icedbatik]

tagged by @pr-scatterbrain​

1. why did you choose your url?

It is an ice-themed play on my favorite quilting fabric, batik. (And ties in to my other Tumblr blog and AO3 account.)

2. any side-blogs? if you have them, name them and why you have them.

I don’t have a side blog, but this is my second of two Tumblr blogs. I tend to go hard when I get into something, and I wanted a “hockey room” in my fandom house, so to speak. I didn’t want to try to blend hockey decor with the “pretty British man” decor in my other “room”.

3. how long have you been on tumblr?

2011 or 2012. I’ve had this particular blog since 2015.

4. do you have a queue tag?

I don’t. I don’t really queue things.

5. why did you start your blog in the first place?

I started my hockey blog because a friend from my other blog posted a 600-word S/G gen fic. As a supportive friend, I read it, not having any idea who these two guys were. I was so charmed at the end of 600 words that the rest is history. 

6. why did you choose your icon?

I was looking for something that those within the fandom would recognize as being at least S/G adjacent without being obviously shippy to outsiders.

7. why did you choose your header?

I *was* surprised to find myself in hockey fandom.

8. what’s your post with the most notes?

I’m not sure. How does one determine that? 

9. how many mutuals do you have?

IDK.

10. how many followers do you have?

Not as many as some but more than I ever expected.

11. how many people do you follow?

66 ... I follow about 500 people on my other blog and I never manage to fully catch up. When I started this blog, I didn’t want that to happen, so I try to keep the number low. (Even 71 and 87 seem a bit much, as tempting as they are.) A lot of those 66 haven’t been active in a while, but the blogs remain and I still love their content.

12. have you ever made a shitpost?

I don’t think so.

13. how often do you use tumblr each day?

I tend to be here in the early morning and on evenings when there’s a Pens game happening. Since I’ve been working from home, I’ve been able to stay logged in almost all day, and it’s a nice little break during my workday to click over to this tab and enjoy some hockey fun for a few minutes.

14. did you have a fight/argument with another blog once? who won?

Fighting with people is not anything I’m interested in doing, especially not on Tumblr. Fandom is my fun place. On the rare occasion when there’s a misunderstanding, we chat it out until we’re cool. I have, over the course of more than a decade (!), blocked a person or two. Seriously, two. There are no winners in those cases.

15. how do you feel about “you need to reblog this” posts?

I refuse to participate in such posts. As I said, this is my fun place. I don’t need someone trying to tell me what to do here. I get enough of that in my real life.

16. do you like tag games?

I do! They’re fun! (Though I always have a horrible time trying to figure out who to tag. I can talk to a half-dozen people 10 minutes before being tagged and have my mind go completely blank on thinking of people to tag when it’s my turn!)

17. do you like ask games?

Yes, though it sometimes takes me a bit to to answer them, and I sometimes forget I have one sitting in my drafts to complete.

18. which of your mutuals do you think is tumblr famous?

I approach Tumblr with the diametrically opposed ideas that everyone I talk to is more “Tumblr famous” than me and “none of us is ‘famous’,” so to speak.

19. do you have a crush on a mutual?

No. I have friends I adore, but not really any “crushes”.

20. tagging:

@rimouskis, @rinkrats, @maljic, @ehghtyseven

[subtlereferencetomyinterests]

Complexities Unknowable- Chapter 7 (Finale!)

Ao3,   1    2    3    4    5    6.  MasterPost

Relationships: Deintruality, background Analogince

Warnings: Cursing, Remus-typical language and jokes, Minor self-deprication/insecurity, the ol’ ‘thinks-it’s-unrequited-and-is-oblivious-to-obvious-flirting’ song and dance, all sympathetic sides, feelings of being left out, also I accidentally projected too hard and now Patton has adhd oops. 

Word Count: 4,000 (approximately)

Patton felt better than he could ever remember feeling. Sleep came easy as it hadn’t for him in years. It was amazing how far a little bit of understanding went.

When all your closest friends are together, you get lonely. Patton wouldn’t say that he was jealous, but everything was different now. When he used to spend time with the others, it was four pals spending quality time together! Now when they did, it was a date, except oops! Patton’s here too! How awkward!

He knew that was unfair. They didn’t really think of him that way, of course not. Hence why he didn’t bring it up.

It wasn’t like that with Remus and Deceit. Even though they were dating, Patton never felt left behind. Their humor was dark and snarky but accessible, not laden with inside jokes that he’d missed out on or specific clues that he didn’t pick up. 

The inclusiveness they treated him with was probably borne from being excluded for so long, though he didn’t like to think about that. The fact was, the three were friends now, the past was past, and Patton was drinking in their companionship like fine wine (or, to be more accurate to himself, a grape juice box).

It did not take him long to figure out why he was so fond of their company. You can only spend so much time with Deceit prattling about the dangers of repression before you start to unearth all of those deeply buried feelings.

He’d fallen for the Dark Sides. Whoops. 

Could you really blame him? Deceit, suave and clever and funny, yet so gentle when he wanted to be; Remus, bold and brash and energetic, but still with such a deep empathy hidden in him! It was no wonder that the two were already together- anyone who spent as much time with them as they spent with each other would be head-over-heels as well! (Patton was speaking from experience on that one). 

Initial surprise regarding the feelings had soon faded to something almost comfortable. He was happy to have them as his friends alone, so what was a little crush? No big deal!

...Was what he had thought ten minutes ago, when there wasn’t an affectionate Remus wrapped around him, chattering off various compliments.

“I could hold you forever, Patty. You are just the softest, like a water balloon full of blood and organs! But still so ripped, I mean, damn!”

“Language,” Patton chided meekly, trying very hard to not dissolve into the ether.

“Awww, you can’t make an exception for me? Just this once? I’ll make it worth your while~,” the last part was a hushed sing-song right near Morality’s ear. He felt his face redden, but forced himself away to refocus on… whatever he had been doing.

“Nope, no exceptions,” he chirped, going back to- right! Cleaning!

“You aren’t tempted at all? You are so responsible- and that’s really one of the sexiest qualities there is.”

It was just Remus’ nature to talk to people like that, Patton told himself firmly. The Creative side was just expressing his friendly affection in a way that made sense to him. It came alongside being close to someone so unused to ‘typical’ friendship dynamics, after all. Patton reminded himself of this again and again, denying himself the desperate urge that welled up and told him to respond in kind. He would not purposefully misinterpret Remus’ actions for his own gain, he was better than that!

“Thank you, Rem,” just nice, platonic gratitude for nice, platonic compliments. 

Eventually, finally, mercifully, The Duke had seemed to get bored. He disentangled himself from Patton (appearing rather crestfallen, though the moral trait wasn’t sure why), and wandered off. 

But that, whether for good or for bad, was hardly the end of that.

Deceit’s room was magnificently cozy. It was armchairs that swallowed up whomever sat in them, warm lamps casting down on all surfaces, and jazzy music playing distantly in the background. In other words, the perfect place for a good cup of tea and some sandwiches, not to mention pleasant conversation.

Deceit lounged back in his oversized chair, sending Patton an inscrutable look across their teacups. The side smiled, hoping that was the appropriate response.

“So,” he drawled, switching the track of their conversation abruptly, “You’re something of a seamster, aren’t you?”

Patton stared blankly for a moment before the term clicked.

“Oh, you mean a seamstress?”

“Sorry, I thought you’d prefer the masculine, but that really was presumptuous of me,” Deceit amended in apology. 

“I didn’t know that there was a word for it other than seamstress. Hey, isn’t it kinda weird how some jobs are like that, when you think about it? Like how there’s actors and actresses! Why wouldn’t ‘actor’ be all encompassing, ya know?”

Deceit made a vague noise of disinterest and waved his hand, as though manually cutting off the tangent in conversation.

“Yes, gender is a distasteful societal construct and an overall prison to our consciences, we both agree- but regardless, you sew. Make clothing and things like our quilt. Isn’t that right?”

“Right- yes.”

“Do you make all of your own clothes, then?”

“Hmm, sometimes I do- I mostly make stuff for the others. It’s easier to conjure simple stuff for myself, but making them is a lot of fun!” Morality gestured enthusiastically to the pastel pink sweater that he wore, fluffy and intricately patterned. 

Deceit’s eyes glinted in a strange, intimidating, and also incredibly hot way. Patton almost forced the attraction out of his mind, before realizing that that kind of repression would definitely be noticed in this part of the Mindscape. 

“I would have to say you have quite the talent, in that case,” the dishonest trait set down his cup and craned his body over the small table between them, heterochromatic gaze alight with… something. Patton cleared his throat. 

“W-Why’s that?” 

“You look positively hideous in that, my Dear,” he purred in obvious lies, gloved hands now sitting in the middle of the table and creeping forward by the inch.

“Aw, thanks,” Patton croaked, fighting the urge to lean forward in turn. 

Something strangely disappointed flashed in Deceit’s eyes, but he quickly recovered. He reached out to run a hand along Patton’s sleeve, the touch lingering against his arm.

“My my, that’s just like a cloud. How did you manage that, Darling?”

Morality shivered as Deceit continued to toy with the fabric of his sweater. 

“I-It’s probably because it’s made with love! Since that’s what I am, kinda,” he stammered, desperately trying to keep up the cheery tone.

“I’m inclined to agree. There’s beauty in all you touch, Sunshine.”

Oh, the pet names. Patton really couldn’t take it; he jerked away and pressed his back against the chair, before he had the chance to do something stupid. Honestly, it was sad how hard this was for him- Deceit was just trying to be a good friend! It wasn’t his fault that he showed it with flirts!

“You’re too sweet,” with distance reestablished, Morality found it much easier to formulate words, “I really appreciate you, Dee.”

Deceit blinked, still hovering over the table. He cleared his throat and snapped back into his seat, suddenly looking the part of the cold and distant Dark Side that Patton had feared just months prior. Guarded, callous, stoic. It was almost frightening, how quickly he changed. 

“Yes, I know you do. Let’s change topics, shall we?”

Patton, feeling quite a bit of whiplash, nodded hesitantly. Their conversation continued to flow normally, for the most part, but he couldn’t help feeling that he’d messed up somewhere. There was something heavy over them, but Patton hadn’t the slightest idea what it was. 

For a brief, dizzying moment, he wondered if they were moving backwards. If he’d somehow crossed a line when he was trying so hard not to, and now they were two steps back again. Just the thought of it made him too sick to finish his tea.

Patton didn’t have to be worried for long about that particular mishap, thankfully, as a very momentous occasion had swallowed up the fear. Remus and Deceit were going to be joining in their first ever movie night as part of the family! 

There’d been plenty of TV marathons with just them and Pat already, but now they’d all come together! As part of the group!! Contributing to the voting and the arguing and the joking and the experience of it all!!! Needless to say, Patton was practically bouncing off the walls in his excitement. 

He plopped down onto the couch with a bowl of popcorn, passing a much larger container of snacks to the amorphous blob of limbs and sass that had once been his three best friends, cuddled together far across from him. Now, all they needed were the Dark- sorry, former Dark Sides.

He wasn’t waiting for long before Deceit and Remus appeared in the living room (Remus, thank the lord, wearing actual pajamas). Patton couldn’t contain the happy little chirp that escaped him, scrunching himself to one side of the sectional so that they’d have plenty of room to make themselves at home.

Rather than huddling together in the crook of the curved sofa, however, Deceit immediately gestured for Patton to scooch over, and Remus sat on his other side. Morality was happy (if a bit surprised) to comply with this new seating arrangement, flashing them bright smiles. In light of recent events, being so close with both of them was a little dizzying, but it wasn’t too hard to bear. For now.

The conversation on which movie to watch that night was more agreeable than usual, which was nice; they got right to the marathon with little hassle. Patton sighed as the opening credits to Tangled played. At that moment, his life couldn’t get any more wonderful. Surrounded by the people he cared about, finally all together, it was perfect. 

And then, a mere ten minutes in, Remus leaned his chin on Patton’s shoulder and pressed into his side. 

“Mother Gothel is such a Milf.”

Patton would usually have been put off by the sexual comment, but at that moment Deceit had also seemed to decide that he’d make a good headrest. Which was fine, this was fine. Some mild friendly cuddling- nothing he couldn't handle!

Another twenty minutes later and Remus twisted an arm around his waist. Deceit held Patton’s hand between a couple of his own. By this point, they were beginning to look a lot like the cuddle pile wrapped up together on the other side of the couch. He was still alive, though!

Neither of the sides beside him moved an inch until the film ended, only begrudgingly letting go when Morality had to get up for a snack refill. Even then, they latched back onto him as soon as he returned. Thus began the second movie, and the beginning of Patton's slow and snuggly death.

Every few minutes, it would be something else: Deceit ran a hand or two through his hair, Remus hooked his leg around Patton’s, Deceit nuzzled against his neck, Remus laughed into his shoulder, et cetera et cetera et cetera.

Three movies in and he was barely keeping up with the conversation. His head was spinning and he was sure he’d never been so warm, but more than that he felt protected. Even adored. He wasn't often on the receiving end of affection, and the longing brought with it ached, but he never wanted it to end.

Then Virgil yawned (oh yeah, the other three were still there), exiting from the ending credits of All Dogs Go To Heaven and clicking back to the main screen.

“Bed time,” he grumbled, a tone so intimate and low and clearly meant for his boyfriends that Patton almost felt bad for overhearing it. 

“It is getting quite late,” Logan agreed, standing to stretch. Roman followed suit and dragged a  sleepy Anxiety up with him.

Virgil tossed the remote in Patton's general direction and let Roman haul him up in his arms (Deceit caught it with an unoccupied arm, given that the moral side’s brain was currently jelly). The three bid their goodnights and were gone with a few shimmers of color and a whoosh.

“I guess we should head up, too,” Patton murmured, working very hard to disguise his reluctance. To his surprise, the traits sandwiching him only sank further into his sides.

“Oh, you’re absolutely right, it’s so very late,” Deceit rumbled, his face partially hidden in the crook of Patton’s neck.

“Yeah, I’m exhausted. I can’t move,” Remus added, his voice ticking up in a noticeably mischievous way. 

“I can’t either. We should stay, just like this.”

Patton's heart warmed, looking between their adorably sleepy faces. He couldn’t lie, the offer was tempting, but in such a situation his brain came back to him. Despite the continued proximity of his crushes, this was something he could handle! 

“Aww, don’t you worry about it, I’ve got ya,” and, making very sure that his grip was secure, Patton stood up with Deceit and Remus cradled in either arm. He hardly staggered under the weight of the sides, familiar with such heavy lifting. 

Remus and Deceit went from sleepiness to pure shock in a matter of milliseconds. Deceit instinctively clung to Patton with all of his limbs, meanwhile Remus gave a startled laugh. Their faces were a matching pink; oh, he could have made them uncomfortable!

“Is this okay? I promise I won't drop you.”

Remus nodded frantically; Deceit squawked in an affirming sort of way. 

Relief washed over Patton and, satisfied with the response, he sank out in a circle of cyan. For a moment, he feared that the nausea that The Subconscious usually brought him would unsteady him, but he was left pleasantly surprised when he felt none. In fact, it felt just like rising up anywhere else. Just as easy as breathing. Hm.

He didn’t dwell on it too long, ascending The Subconscious’ staircase and bringing his cargo to the first bedroom he saw (Deceit’s). He nudged the door open with his shoe, carrying them right to the bed and dropping them down gently. Remus fell onto his back with a happy hum; Deceit stayed upright and stared at Patton with wide eyes. He huffed a laugh and nudged The Snake's shoulders, and Deceit let himself fall beside his boyfriend, dazed. 

This was routine for Patton: grabbing the covers and blanketing his friends, as he’d done for probably every other side at one point or another (even Logan, though he would deny it furiously). Once Remus and Deceit were sufficiently tucked in, he stood up and dimmed the lights to near darkness. 

“Alright, you two have a good night's sleep.”

There was a noise of approval from the pair. Patton gave them one last smile before disappearing back to his own room. To scream into his pillow and think about how gay he was.

Which meant that he didn't get the opportunity to hear the interaction that followed between Dee and Ree.

“Well, that didn’t backfire at all.”

“I want him to snap my spine in half like a glow stick. He could break every bone in my body and I would thank him,” Remus replied dreamily. Deceit hummed in agreement. 

“Perhaps we should try a more… direct approach, as this doesn’t seem to be working in our favor.”

“I dunno about you, but I’m feeling pretty fuckin’ favored right now.”

“I was suggesting that we be more-” he very nearly gagged, “Straightforward.”

“More like gay-forward, actually,” Remus corrected, “But I’m with you! You know I love being direct.”

“Now when I say direct, I don’t mean blunt.”

“I don’t understand the difference.”

“I know you don’t. Let me do the talking.”

“Fine by me! Whatever works to get him to pick me up and throw me!”

Deceit rolled his eyes, settling his arms around Remus. 

“Yes, yes- but I’m actually wide awake right now, and I’d love it if you keep being loud all night, Dearest.” 

“Oh, right,” Remus lowered his voice, curling himself around the lying side in turn. Together, their breathing slowed. As they drifted to sleep, the feeling of Patton's arms around them still ghosted their skin.

Patton was cleaning furiously. He’d already reorganized the entirety of his room- twice, for that matter- and now he’d moved to the Common area. It hadn’t been so much as a week since his last tidying session, and the Mindpalace was pretty much spotless, but that was irrelevant. It was as good a distraction as any.

Maybe he was avoiding the trifecta of trifling traits- aka his best friends- because he knew that they’d ask about why he was being so weird lately. Maybe he was avoiding Deceit and Remus, the reason that he’d been weird lately. Maybe he was just avoiding his thoughts about them, because seeing them all cozied up and sleepy and adorable a couple nights ago really hadn’t helped settle his growing infatuation with them. Most likely, he was avoiding all three. 

But he had failed to take into account that The Common Area was not the best place for avoiding stuff. Given that it was. A Public Space. 

“Patton,” began the voice of Deceit behind him, in a tone deadly serious.

He spun around to see a very embarrassed Dee and an immensely giddy Remus. Well, Shhhhh-ucks. Shucks. 

“Hey!” Patton tossed the sponge in his hand back into the sink and pretended that he wasn’t freaking out at that exact moment. 

Deceit hardly registered the greeting, continuing: 

“We need to talk to you.”

“What about?”

The Snake opened his mouth, and promptly closed it. His eyes had widened concerningly, and he cast his gaze downwards.

“We-” he cut off again. Patton’s worry was mounting. 

“DeeDee?” Remus prompted, elbowing his partner’s side, “I thought you were doing the talking?”

“I-I can do this, I’m not tapping out,” his voice was frenzied, hiding himself behind The Duke in a rare display of fear. 

“Guys? Is something wrong?” Patton approached them, all of his nervousness about his feelings forgotten in the face of this distress, “Whatever it is, you can talk to me.”

Remus gave him a warm smile, not hesitating for a breath. 

“We came to tell you you’re hot and we wanna date you! But, you know how bad Dee is with words! Anyway, whaddya say?”

Deceit, for his part, nodded in deep resignation. And Patton’s head reeled.

He could hear, audibly hear his heart thumping against his ribs. It was probably as simple as a confession could get, but regardless he found himself frantically replaying the words over and over and over again. He’d never imagined- not even for a second- even the thought of it- 

Mentally, he took a step back. Roman, Logan, and Virgil were an item. Remus and Deceit were an item. And Patton was a third party, paternal and caring and watching out for all of them and their misadventures, though he knew he’d never be entirely part of it. But maybe, now he could be. After everything, they wanted not to just be with him, but to be with him.

It didn’t process.

“I- You- What- Me?”

Because there is good in this world, Remus (correctly) interpreted his flustered stammering as surprise and not distaste. The smile that he almost always wore widened and he took a step forward, dragging the mildly less panicked Deceit along with him.

“You,” he confirmed, shimmying excitedly in place, “Definitely you. And us.”

“I second that not-at-all vague sentiment. We’ve grown unfortunately fond of you,” Deceit uncoiled himself from Remus enough to be seen clearly.

Patton saw it. He saw, in full light and understanding, the subtext in their previous interactions. And now that he did, he had no idea how he’d missed it. A testament to the power of his insecurity, probably. But that didn’t matter, because they liked him back.

Patton failed to words. But, they were very near, and he was very happy, and in the light of new context, he figured that they wouldn’t mind the response he opted for instead. 

He hopped forward with a delighted squeal, scooping the traits up in his arms. Remus started cackling and immediately returned the hug with just as much fervor. Deceit wasn’t far behind for once, allowing his face to split with a smile equal parts shock, relief, and glee. 

“Oh, I love you two so much!” Patton laughed out, burying his face in Remus’ hair. 

“I love you back!” Remus said in kind. 

Deceit attempted a dramatic groan, but he failed to tamp down his grin. 

“It could be said that I feel something love-adjacent for the both of you. Perhaps.” 

Patton’s mind was swimming in joy, so much so that it barely registered when Remus tilted his head back only to lean forward, and oh wow, were they kissing. Patton’s vision was all bright blurs of color, and he melted. The creative trait pushed up against him, rough in much the same way as an overly excited large dog. Patton hardly had time to reciprocate the kiss before Remus broke off completely from the hug, unflustered and unaffected by what he’d done, save for a light blush.

“Now you guys!”

Oh, he was still hugging Deceit. 

“Only if it’s okay?” he’d barely gotten the apprehensive words out of his mouth when it was suddenly occupied, and the world went back to hazey vibrance. Deceit was almost skittish, a barely-there press against his lips like he expected Patton to shove him away. He didn’t, by the way. Rather, he slid a hand up to rest between the side’s shoulder blades, bringing him nearer. 

After a moment, they pulled back slowly, not letting go of each other. 

“That was hot, ngl,” Remus chimed from his perch on the counter.

Patton was overcome with a fit of giggling, energy building in him. He ended his and Deceit’s very drawn-out embrace to satisfy the necessity of full body wiggle. He was in Silly Mode, there was no avoiding this until it had been exorcised via The Joyful Movement™. Patton flapped his hands at his sides and shook his hair out, laughing all the while. Today could not possibly get better!

But he remembered his audience of two. He looked up, hair fluffed up and face flushed with fading excitement and a tinge of self-consciousness. 

“Sorry, I got over-excited...”

“That,” Deceit announced solemnly, “Was astoundingly adorable.”

“I’ve died a gruesome death,” Remus rolled off the counter and onto the ground with a crash (and some bone crunches thrown in, probably for fun), “My heart overloaded, it has burst. There’s blood everywhere, it’s in my eyes, I’m now also blind.” 

Patton’s relief escaped in another bout of laughter, and something lifted in him. A weight that had been there for so long that he hadn’t even remembered it was there, nor how it felt to be without it. But now that it had left, he didn’t know how he had been living with it for so long. There was airiness in his chest, a clarity in his mind, a general sense of contentment rushing over him. This wasn’t a face he put on for others benefit, it wasn’t a fleeting enjoyment of one thing or another- what it was was a deep, thrumming joy that overcame him. 

He was happy. 

Naturally, Patton could not finish cleaning due to. Circumstances. Those circumstances being, he was finally letting himself indulge in some quality time with his new boyfriends (an identifier he very much liked the sound of). 

The trio were half-laying on the Common room’s couch, a tangle of various limbs. Remus leaned against a pile of pillows, and Patton rested his head on his chest. Draped across the both of them was Deceit, fastening all of his arms around them in a manner simultaneously protective and needy. Oh, and also very, very cute. 

“This was totally what I was planning from the beginning,” his voice reverberated through Patton’s chest, “God, I am so great at plotting.”

Remus clicked his tongue agreeably, pressing a kiss to the top of Morality’s head.

“Yeah, I was pretty sure we were gonna end up killing you, Pumpkin. This wasn’t even in the ballpark of outcomes.” 

Patton hummed in thought, cuddling himself closer to his partners.

“I dunno. I’d say your plan turned out pretty well.”

@deceits-left-glove​ 

@princemesscharming

@shrimp-crockpot

[dopescotlandwarrior]

Beauty Chooses II-Chapter 8

                        A special thanks to @statell​ for all your help

Previous chapters at AO3

Chapter Eight- Nick of Time

I felt tears running down my face and said over and over again, “I love you Jamie, please don’t leave me.”

Misses Crook commanded the faucet to shoot water out and filled a large pan. She wielded her power to push the burner to high so the water would boil. She was not afraid. The Laird needed her attention and skills to pull through and the devil himself would not alter her purpose.

Glavia brought stacks of towels from upstairs and tore into linens to make bandages and fabric for compresses. I witnessed the mobilization of the household to pull Jamie from death’s door and felt him pull me to him.

“Stay with me, love. I am afraid to leave ye. I’m afraid.”

“Don’t be afraid, I will follow you through the gates of heaven or the fires of hell. I will not let you go.”

My hands gripped his upper arms and Joe somehow worked around me. I could tell there were many wounds that were cleaned and bandaged one at a time. I heard Baritone call out beats per minute and blood pressure as Joe worked swiftly to stem the bleeding from so many wounds. I just laid with Jamie and made him feel my love.

I was coming to the surface from somewhere unknown. My back was screaming at me to move and my arms were completely numb. I panicked because I could not hear Jamie. My head came up and my wide eyes looked around the kitchen for Joe. Jamie had white bandages all over his legs and arms, chest, and head. I looked for someone, anyone, to tell me Jamie was alive. I felt myself getting hysterical and then Joe breezed into the kitchen and looked at me smiling.

“You’re awake Pet, and your husband lives.”

“He will live? Joe? Oh, my God! Thank you, Joe, thank you. You brought him back, didn’t you? He was dead when we found him, wasn’t he?”

Joe looked at me with such compassion, and when he spoke, I felt the magic of the stones, time travel, and a promise made two-hundred and fifty years ago. It was all in me, filling me up. I looked at Joe, waiting to hear the miracle.

“Yes, Pet. Jamie had passed already when we found him. You got us back here in time to restart his heart. If his heart had been beating when we traveled, I think it would have killed him, judging by the pressure exerted on me going through the centuries. It took all of us, including you, keeping him calm, giving him a reason. When he took that first breath I almost fainted. I would not have bet on him to rally.” He touched my cheek. “But he did.”

I was too happy to listen at the moment, but I tried anyway. I wanted to shout it from the rooftop that Jamie lives!

“I knocked him out so he could rest for several days and start healing. He would sacrifice everything to make sure you’re cared for, so I took that option away. I’m sorry Pet. I want him to wake long enough to eat and then another injection to put him back to sleep. If I had the equipment, I would feed him by tube and not wake him at all. Will you help me Pet? While he’s awake eating you talk of daisies and blessings. Okay?”

I got up and put my head on Joe’s shoulder. “Okay.” My arms went around him, and I hugged him with all my might pulling a chuckle out of him.

Later in the day, Jamie was stable enough to be moved to a bedroom. Joe suggested Murtagh’s room because it was on the same floor.

”Please Joe, is it so terrible to carry him upstairs so he wakes in the Laird’s room, his room?”

All the men gathered around Jamie and carried him upstairs to his room. I laid beside him and held him close to me. On the third day, I heard Jamie chuckling in his sleep.

“Ye have a kiss for da? That’s a good lass.”

I was happy that Faith found him in his dreams and gave him love. I looked at his face in sleep and saw him smile. I dropped back to sleep and sometime later, felt a warm hand move up my arm and jerked my head up. Jamie was still smiling, running his hand down my arm like he used to. I cuddled him close to me and saw it was dark outside, so we had a bit more time to dream together before Joe woke him up.

My little Faith had been brought to me for three days so I could nurse her. While nursing she would tug at Jamie’s shirt and babble at him. Several times she would cling to Jamie when Glavia came to bring her back to the nursery. I would lay her next to her father, so she could fall asleep holding his arm, with her thumb in her mouth. It took my breath away to see her love for him as they slept together for hours while I watched.

On the fourth day, Joe did not come with an injection after Jamie ate. We were left alone, come what may. Jamie slept for many hours and Faith decided she had to stay with her da after I fed her. I hardly knew if it was day or night anymore. I looked out the window at the low light and wondered if it was dawn or nightfall. I didn’t care.

Faith wrapped her arm through Jamie’s and babbled to him. She wasn’t falling asleep like usual and squirmed until she had climbed on his back and put her head down. Her fingers were in his hair and she worked her way into his neck. The thumb found her mouth and the babbling stopped. I watched the miracle with a full heart that almost stopped when Jamie asked her for a kiss.

He raised his head and turned his face toward her while she grabbed for more hair.

“Faith, do ye have a kiss for yer da?”

She kicked her legs and pulled on his arm trying to get her puckered mouth to his face. He leaned into her to receive the requested kiss and his hand came out to hold my arm. I shook with my tears watching him come to life. When he looked at me, he smiled.

Sometime in the night I felt Glavia touch my arm and point at the baby. I extracted a sleeping Faith from under her father’s arm and handed her over. When it was just me and Jamie, he pulled me close to him. I placed feather-light kisses on his face as he smiled himself to sleep.

When Jamie was awake enough to meet Joe, the moment felt suspended across two and a half centuries. They were both sparkling happy to meet the other after hearing so much about each other.

Joe examined Jamie’s wounds checking for infection and then redressing them. He had come prepared to treat anything I assume, because he never seemed to run out of needles and tiny bottles as he attended Jamie. I finally put myself in Joe’s shoes and realized just how much of a hero he was. What was he doing in London, how could he get away at a moment’s notice, how could he get all this medicine and instruments? It seemed an endless supply and then there was Baritone. What was he doing in London with Joe? I had a million questions that would have to wait until Jamie was under his own power again.

The men were locked in a conversation about the weapons used to cause the various injuries. Jamie did his best to describe the event, the arc of the weapon, the force used to wield it, and Joe made drawings and scribbled notes next to each.

“It’s lights out for you my friend. I apologize for so many questions. I look forward to talking again.”

Jamie’s eyelids were insistent and closed for a rejuvenating sleep that would last for hours. I pulled the quilt up under his chin and walked Joe down to the kitchen just as Baritone was plowing through the door holding a king's ransom in clothing. Bag after bag was placed on the table as I tore through them. I had washed my breeks and shirt every day, but I was very ready to relieve myself of this ugly outfit. I thought about Misses Crook and Glavia for the first time in four days, feeling ashamed it took so long.

“Where on earth did all this come from, Baritone?”

“I have scoured every thrift store in Edinburgh and a church rummage sale to find this stuff. I asked the women what they would feel comfortable in and pestered them until they let me measure them. It was an easy conversion of my hand width although Misses Crook may not recover from being touched continuously for ten minutes.” He was laughing. “She clung to Glavia the whole time and closed her eyes. Glavia was easier. That girl is game for anything, it’s awesome. I tried to get them into the jeep for a ride but that is still a no-go zone.”

I kissed his cheek and hugged him with my thanks, he was a good man who took it upon himself to see to their every need.

“This is the fun part, go get them so we can find some stuff that fits!”

I ran upstairs and pulled the women down taking Faith so she could watch the excitement as they held shirts and pants in their arms. Well, Glavia did. Misses Crook looked traumatized at having to wear such things and looked at me for an escape. Baritone handed her a bag of special things he found just for her and he smiled at her fearful face. I pulled each item out and was astounded he found such things. There were six garments that would suffice as a shift and long dresses that covered her completely. Glavia pulled her upstairs so they could finally get out of the dresses they had worn for five days. It was a tense twenty minutes.

When I heard footsteps on the stairs, I held my breath until two transformed women walked meekly into the kitchen. Joe and Baritone won the world record for compliments and esteem building statements. I felt the tears again and wondered if they would ever stop. Faith pushed the tears off my cheeks, “no, no, mama.” Then she kissed my face for several minutes making me laugh.

Misses Crook wore a casual floor-length dress that was all the rage when I was last here and her boots. I told her how nice she looked and saw the red rims of her eyes as she looked at the floor. She was miserable and my heart broke for her.

“Misses Crook, I am rather good with hand sewing. I don’t know how long we will be here, but I will dedicate time to crafting something more suitable and beige. Skirts, jacket, petticoat, and bum-roll. You only need to wear this when I wash your dress. Okay?”

She reached out and grabbed my arm as the tears fell. “Mistress, I thank ye. Bring the fabric, I can sew my own.

I turned my attention to Glavia, and it was like looking from night to day. She was dressed in loose pants and a cotton button-down with flat shoes. She radiated happiness in her modern clothes and touched her ribs constantly. I walked to her smiling.

“It feels weird at first not to wear a corset, but you will learn to love it.”

She beamed at me and curtsied reaching for Faith who now had a belly full of milk and drooping eyes. When she left the kitchen to take Faith to bed she backed out, smiling and nodding. That was weird, I thought. I wondered if she was self-conscious of her butt showing with no bum-roll.

With Misses Crook still looking at the floor and sniffling, I pulled her upstairs to gather the soiled pieces of her dress and get them in the wash. She stayed in her room and sat quietly on her bed until she had her skirts, jacket, bum roll, corset, stockings, and shift back. I hurried.

I raced downstairs to hug both men who were making sandwiches and drinking beer. They both wanted me to sit with them and talk and I realized how little time I had given them while they were so devoted to each of us. I moved toward the table and heard a crash upstairs, spinning on my heel to race up the steps.

Poor Jamie was on the floor passed out. I called for Baritone and Joe, then heard Faith crying after being woken up by my yelling. I was hysterical and torn between helping Jamie and helping Faith. I could hear Glavia coo’ing to the baby and her crying stopped. I helped the men get Jamie back into bed. Joe sat with him, finger on his pulse and Baritone came back with the blood pressure cuff.

“He needs blood Pet. I hoped he would build his blood by eating but there is too much taxing his resources with all his wounds. I don’t have the equipment to test everyone’s blood type and give him a transfusion.”

Joe hung his head and looked crestfallen. “How could I forget that?”

I hugged him and told him of everything he did bring and how it saved all of us, but it did little to help his concern. He would be staying with Jamie for now and suggested we relax for the afternoon. We were being dismissed and Baritone held the door for me looking at Joe compassionately.

“He will be inconsolable for the rest of today Claire. That’s just Joe, especially when it affects someone so important. He will be fine as soon as he forgives himself.”

I was horrified and pestered Baritone for a way to help Jamie.

“I may be able to help but it won’t be quick, or ethical. If Joe is this distraught, he must fear for Jamie’s life so I will do what I can.”

He was holding me down telling me to breathe and calm down. He kept apologizing for his insensitive comment about Jamie dying. I just wanted to run upstairs and hold him, but Baritone pleaded with me to let Joe doctor him. It took a good five minutes, but I finally nodded my head and sat back on the couch. My whole body was shaking, and my head was screaming but I promised Baritone and put my faith in Joe.

It was a long afternoon and the minutes passed like hours while my mind conjured up every awful scenario, driving me closer to insanity. I turned the television on hoping for distraction and watched a program like it was yesterday I had done such a thing. Misses Crook came quietly downstairs and launched herself into the closest wall when she looked at the television. Her hand was pressed to her chest, eyes wide, and mouth agape. Like she had just seen miniature people interacting inside a box. She was crossing herself continuously and trying to melt into the wall.

“Misses Crook! It’s alright, I’m sorry for not warning you about this box. It’s alright, those people are not real. Well, they’re real but not in the box, umm, let’s turn this off and explain another time. I think your dress is ready, let’s check.”

She would not enter the laundry room, too small and too loud for her nerves I think. I handed her a fresh, warm dress and smiled encouragingly. When she came downstairs the next time, she looked just like the old Misses Crook with renewed confidence and a clean dress.

The afternoon went by at a snail’s pace until I could not stand it anymore. I opened Jamie’s door quietly and looked at Joe who was deep in concentration. Jamie looked very pale in his sleep and wore the deflated cuff around his arm, apparently for repeated readings. Joe didn’t notice I had come in the room and I was too scared suddenly of what he would tell me. I slipped out and went back to pacing the downstairs.

We prepared dinner and I nursed Faith while I watched the sunset and darkness set upon the estate. Where was Baritone and what was his mission? He said he would try to help Jamie and left hours ago. I handed a sleepy Faith to Glavia and walked upstairs hanging my head. I didn’t want to hear that Jamie would die; I didn’t want to hear Joe could not help him. I entered the room with tears flowing and looked at the two of them. Jamie looked even paler if that were possible. I knelt at Joe’s feet and looked up, ready to be devastated. He pulled me up and walked me into the hall. He would not let go of my shaking hands.

“It’s time to make a decision Pet. Without a transfusion, Jamie won’t make it through the night. The hospital will want identification, at least a name they can match with birth records. They won’t find anything for a twenty-five-year-old Scot named James Fraser. They will treat him and then interrogate us for his next of kin, parent’s names, siblings, anything that will provide his identity. His wounds are not consistent with any weapon we use today. They will send his picture to every agency in Scotland asking for identification.”

What Joe couldn’t tell her is he could not be involved with the hospital and their pursuit of Jamie’s identity. He could not risk involving himself with a man with no identity. It felt to him like abandonment because she would have to bring him in alone. It was the only way to save Jamie at this point.

I pulled Joe to the kitchen for much-needed food. There was something he wasn’t telling me and that was my worst fear now. I tried to eat but could not, so I crept into Jamie’s room and carefully laid down next to him. His skin was the color of a white sheet and my tears were pouring out of my eyes. There was no decision to make. We had to save his life and pay consequences later. I went back downstairs to tell Joe. I could hear excited talking and Baritone’s voice, which was never hard to miss. When I walked into the kitchen Joe was crushing Baritone to him with a huge smile. I saw a cooler on the table and two bags full of what looked like medical equipment. I looked at Joe blankly.

“We are saved Pet, because Baritone is the smartest, most resourceful person in the universe! We have blood for Jamie!”

It was quite a leap from utter despair to saved and all I could do is smile vacantly and wonder why Joe wasn’t shooting the blood into Jamie already. I looked in the cooler and saw piles of O-negative blood bags. Joe took my hand and the cooler as we walked upstairs. He took some time to smooch with our hero Baritone while I cuddled up to Jamie.

“Do not be afraid my dearest love. Help is here and you will feel better in a short time. Be strong and brave for me, don’t give up.”

I gave him the lightest kisses while Joe and Baritone set up a crude stand for the blood transfusion Baritone was blushing from Joe’s constant praise which made his Hollywood-handsome face even more disarming. I watched the blood run down the tube into Jamie’s arm and felt the first ray of hope in this devastating day. Joe shuffled everyone out of the room and closed the door leaving me alone with Jamie.

I started telling him what I remembered of our days together before we sailed for France. I explained the funny times when his joy would sweep me away and the intimate times when we celebrated our never-ending desire for each other. I talked myself into a deep sleep, disturbed only by Joe coming in to check Jamie’s blood pressure and heart rate., or hang another bag of blood. I could not remember how many times Joe checked Jamie as he was in and out of the room for most of the night. Several times he touched my cheek or squeezed my hand and my heart was bursting with love for my friend. For saving Jamie.

Deep in the night, I felt Glavia touch my arm and I heard Faith sniffling. She had cried so hard she hiccupped when breathing and held her arms out to me. I didn’t hear her cry meaning my sanity edged farther away from me. I told Glavia I would keep her for the rest of the night and sent her to bed.

I hummed while Faith nursed and settled down. When she was deep in sleep again, I laid her between us and drifted back to the black.

“Da-da-da-kish-da-kish ohh ma-mum-mum-mum-up mama.”

My eyes opened to Faith’s nose pressed against mine and she smiled and sat up reaching behind her to play with Jamie’s shirt. I kissed her a dozen times and went rigid in shock when I heard Jamie’s voice say, “wee lassie.” Faith was babbling to her father while I shot up to look at his beautiful face. His color was back, and he was reaching for me. I noticed there wasn’t a bag of blood hung so Joe cut him off sometime in the night. I cuddled him and said good morning.

When Joe came in to check Jamie, I took Faith downstairs to start breakfast for everyone. Misses Crook had a large pot of oatmeal ready to serve and I demonstrated the use of the toaster to her and Glavia. I pulled fresh fruit out, butter, and cream cheese just wanting everyone to eat all they could and then celebrate the day.

Baritone was picking at the oatmeal, still a slave to his body fat index. He handed me a large bag from Macy’s and smiled as I tore into the treasures inside. There were two pairs of designer jeans and several shirts, belts and sandals. I launched at him and kissed him soundly while he laughed deep in his belly.

“I turned the horses out lassie.”

My head shot up at the sound of Murtagh’s voice. I hugged him for a full minute because it had been so long since I’d seen him.

“And the Laird?”

“He is doing much better Murtagh.”

The passage of time was finally less painful, in fact, it was springtime when everything is renewed. The days were warmer, Jamie got stronger, and the household settled into a routine. One morning I awoke early, just as the sun was coming up and went downstairs for some juice. Joe was sitting in the big lazy boy reading the paper, just like I remembered him doing. I watched him, missing the closeness.

“It will always belong to you, Pet.”

“What will?”

“My lap.”

I hugged him and found my drink before returning to Jamie. We have been in this century for four weeks and even Misses Crook has accepted the wicked technology of the television. At least she doesn’t throw herself at walls anymore when the television is on. I could not wait to get back to Jamie’s time at first, but I am getting accustomed to the luxury of hot showers, toilets, cars, and riding for fun rather than transport. What will we do when Jamie is strong enough to travel the centuries?Will we stay or will we go back?

Misses Crook made a new kilt for Jamie from wool Baritone purchased along with several white shirts. When Jamie could stand for a few minutes, baritone measured his waist and thighs for pants. He still slept for most of the day but in the evening, he would get a second wind and we would play with Faith on the big bed and talk a little.

“Sassenach, where are we? I assume this is your time because of Joe bein here, but where are we?”

I was stunned. “You don’t recognize the house? It’s Lallybroch Jamie. Fixed up and modernized but it’s your home and land. Remember me telling you I purchased it from the bank?”

Jamie looked around the room as if for the first time. His eyes were very large as he considered the possibility. “I want to see the rest of the house, please Sassenach.”

Joe had mentioned recently that Jamie would want to get out of his room as he felt better and warned me to go slow but let him out. I giggled at that, then and now, like I would have any power to stop him.

We walked slowly down the hall so he could see the door to the attic, the grand hallway of the second floor and doors to the same rooms he and Jenny had when they lived here. He moved toward the stairs and I pulled him back asking him to rest first. I could see his eyes blazing with excitement that this really was his childhood home.

He pulled me into a hug and looked down at me cocking his head.

“Well Sassenach, I could leave ye here and go myself but that wouldn’t be much fun so yer goin with me.”

He saw Faith sitting on the floor playing with her blocks and his smile beamed. When she saw him, she started babbling excitedly, “da-da-da!” Glavia looked up and saw Jamie taking a careful stair at a time and she jumped up and down and clapped her hands calling for Misses Crook. We had an audience as our feet finally landed on the first floor. Jamie looked pale and I freaked out pulling him to the couch.

I brought Faith to sit in his lap and the two of them went into their own world while I looked for Murtagh. I finally found him repairing fencing and shook my head smiling. The work ethic of a healthy Scot could not be ignored. They were driven to work. It’s what gave their lives purpose and stability. I remembered times when one man could finish the chores on Jamie’s estate, and Murtagh would go work with a neighbor that needed help. I suddenly felt nostalgic for that better life and realized the trappings of the modern world were complicit in separating people from all I loved about 1745. I knew Jamie would feel it too, eventually.

Murtagh was full of smiles seeing Jamie on the couch. They sat and talked a bit while I nursed Faith. She was getting quite good at drinking from a cup and it was time to start weaning her. My heart broke a bit as I rocked this sweet child looking up at me, forcing her eyes to stay open. Sleep won and I handed her to Glavia and followed them upstairs to change the sheets on our bed and air out the room. I made fast work of it and coming down to the laundry room saw all the men sitting together talking about life in Jamie’s time. I started the wash and saw Jamie’s eyes follow me, beckoning. I sat next to him and joined the conversation until Joe declared enough for the first trip downstairs. Murtagh and Joe helped Jamie upstairs and into bed. He barely had the strength to lift his leg for the next step. I thanked them all and said good night.

“Sassenach, I canna sleep with all these clothes. Will ye help me get them off.” When he laid down on cool clean sheets, he sighed for so long it made my heart hurt. I never thought to take his clothes off while he laid there, week after week. I sat on the edge of the bed and ran my hands through his hair until he fell asleep with a smile on his face.

Jamie’s recovery was nothing short of a miracle and in a week's time, he was walking short distances outside in the fresh air, looking at fields that hadn’t changed since he last saw them in his time. When I knew he could make it to the barn I walked him in and watched the shock on his face as Donus stamped the ground and snorted in his happiness.

“Donus, how?”

“I brought them so they wouldn’t starve just like you told me to.”

Jamie’s face lost color and he staggered to a hay bale to sit down. “Come sit with me Mo chridhe and tell me how you got them here. How you got any of us here.”

My heart was racing as I took one-inch steps toward him. I had avoided all talk of transporting people across the centuries, pulling them away as the British musket balls flew through the air toward my head. How we were unable to sail to safety with no alternative but to seek shelter in the high caves only to be discovered the second day. I didn’t want to tell him how many trips I took to the gorge looking for the blue stone. I didn’t want to tell him how I betrayed him.

“Sassenach, no matter how slow ye walk ye will eventually answer my questions.”

When I looked up at him, I heard the gasp. “Come here lass, now, ye look like yer walkin to the gallows. What can trouble ye so?”

I sat down on the hay with him and looked at my feet, pleading for a way out of this.

“Are ye ready to talk to me, sweetheart?”

“I’d rather not actually.”

He took my hand and dropped his head back to rest on the wall behind him. “There are two women in ye Claire. Here, yer independent and commanding in the nicest possible way. Suddenly, I’m with the wife I remember in our life at Lallybroch. Timid, quiet, subservient.”

He pulled my shoulder so I would turn toward him and lifted my chin to look at him.

“I loved her, with all my heart. But I love ye more this way Claire.”

His eyes were burning with his truth and it took my breath away. Was he telling me he loved the take charge Claire the most? I was confused, remembering the day he tortured me about the money I took from his desk. I didn’t know what to say or how to say it.

“I can see ye bein tossed on an ocean of changing rules and roles and I want to quiet yer mind love. We do as we are taught until we see another way that is better. Forgive me for my dominance of ye, forgive my callousness. Open yer mind like ye have opened mine. I’ve watched ye for the past weeks and I’ve fallen in love all over again. Speak yer truth Sassenach and please don’t lose yerself again to walk in my shadow, not ever.”

His eyes were full of compassion and I felt my back straighten and met his gaze.

“Now then, how did ye get everyone to this time, love.”

I had a choice, to believe in what he said about loving the strong Claire, or dodging his questions and getting him back to bed.

“Well, Murtagh tried many times to book us passage to America. He told me you would escape, and we had to be ready to disappear with you. There were no ships because the British army had taken them. As the battle got closer, we had no choice but to hide in the caves until we could find a ship. We emptied the house of the valuable pieces and heirlooms and put them in the priest’s hole. I went to the gorge four times after they took you, looking for the blue stone. I had a bad feeling we wouldn’t get away, so I kept searching. After our first night in the cave, I snuck Brimstone out of the barn and rode for the gorge. A huge storm was above me and it ripped open leaving me with no shelter against the pouring rain and lightning. I was heartbroken, defeated, and utterly empty inside as the rain soaked me through. I didn’t pray. I just stared at the rocks. Then, the outer dirt melted away from a brilliant blue rock, right in front of my eyes. I grabbed it and saw others, putting them all in my sack.”

“I galloped back and saw the house was full of red coats. When I reached the cave, Murtagh, Misses Crook, Glavia, and Faith were being pushed out of it by two British soldiers. I believe Faith was crying which led the soldiers to them. I waited, hearing them taunt Murtagh with watching them throw Misses Crook over the edge followed by Faith and then raping Glavia.”

I cried with the memory. It was terrifying and this was the first time I brought it all back. Jamie held me close to him and asked me to continue when I could.

“The soldiers were talking among themselves and distracted so I ran to the group, telling them to hold hands and not to let go. I was so scared. I saw the soldiers raise their rifles, pointing at my head. I closed my eyes and thought about Lallybroch in my own time and suddenly we were whisked away, seconds before the musket balls could crash into my head.”

“Jesus Claire!” Jamie hugged me to him, and I felt his strength and his love but there was no anger. It gave me the strength to continue.

“I thought you were dead. You came to me in my dreams and told me to get the horses or they would starve. You woke me up and told me to go. So I did. Watching the house, I started to move toward the barn, and you told me to wait. A red coat walked out the kitchen door and rode away. I brought the horses here soon after.”

Jamie was speechless but continued to hold me close, lending his strength so I could tell the story.

“How did I get here Sassenach. My last memory is laying on the grass of Culloden Moore, knowin I was dyin and praying you would forgive me.”

“For what?”

“For being taken and leavin ye alone.” He dropped his head. “For breakin my promise to get us away before the battle.”

“Jamie!” I threw my arms around him and told him it wasn’t his fault and I never thought it was. I was crying and he just held me to him.

“The British gathered the living and we waited our turn to be shot. I had no more life in me and felt myself drifting away. Rupert McKenzie shook me, askin if I was alive. It brought me back, to the pain and the visions of you and Faith that were breakin my heart. They pulled Rupert away and I heard the shot that ended his life. I remember nothin after that, so how did I get here.”

“You woke me up and asked me to help you. I took Joe with me and found you in the dooryard of Lallybroch. Someone had left you there, I don’t know when. Joe told me to get us back immediately, so I did. They worked on you all night and I later learned you had passed already, and Joe brought you back by restarting your heart.”

I was sobbing now and clung to Jamie like a lifeline. He had gone pale again and I suddenly worried I had overtaxed him. I begged him to wait right there and ran to the house for Joe sprinting back to my relief he was still seated where I left him.

Once Jamie was in bed with some juice, he held my hand to him. “Dinna leave yet Sassenach.”

I stayed back when the others left and closed the door. Jamie looked up at me like he was seeing me for the first time. His eyes radiated love and appreciation and he kissed my hand.

“Ye set yer cap for me Sassenach and fought death itself to keep me. I am so grateful mo chridhe. I saw ye as the beautiful woman that ye are before, now I see ye as a warrior, like me. How did I win the love of one so special?”

I laid down next to him and he held me close. I looked into his crystal blue eyes and smiled. “I fell in love with a handsome, dashing Scot, in a barn, in the middle of the night, when it was bitter cold outside. I haven’t seen my heart since.”

I kissed him and felt a kiss I remembered. Soft at first, gradually claiming my soul, stealing my mind, promising everything, and leaving me breathless. I felt my arousal and panicked trying to think of a way to extricate myself from his arms. I felt his breath on my cheek and saw he was sound asleep. I cuddled with him, giving up the reins of the day, happy to free-fall with my dearest love, into the surrender of sleep.

[hadestownmodern]

Fight (4/4)

If I post this on the wrong blog one more time I stg. Who let me have access to technology? WHO?

-Danielle

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             “’Rydice?” He knocks a bit louder than intended, driven by the nerves that dance painfully along his skin. The complete lack of knowledge in this situation presents himself in a discomfort, a prickling sensation that clouds his thoughts as he waits intently for an answer. When none comes, he knocks even louder.

             “’Rydice, it’s me.” His voice cracks slightly on the last syllable, but he barely notices. There’s shuffling on the other side of the door, a voice quieted by distance. A small coming that sends a shock of relief through to his chest.

             “I have to go,” Orpheus speaks quickly through the phone, shreds of hope hitching themselves back to his voice. “She’s here, I have to go-I’ll call, I promise.”

             Before Persephone can answer he’s hung up the phone, stuck it in his back pocket with shaking hands. He can hear the clicking of locks, the slow sliding of metal against the doorframe, and then her face.

             Her face-she pokes through a crack in the door momentarily, as if checking to make sure that the voice she’d heard matched the person in front of her. Her eyes are substantially paler, darkened only by the baggage that weighs underneath. She seems smaller, yet so much more guarded in comparison. In the two days since he had seen her, it’s as if he’s met with a stranger. She looks him up and down through the slit in the door before pushing the door open, covering her eyes with her hands.

             Orpheus stands still for a moment, hands lingering awkwardly at his sides until he hears the shakiness in her breath, witnesses the immediate collapse of that guard she’d held onto so fiercely when she’d first opened the door. The sound of her sadness pushes his hesitation to the side, drives him to close the distance between them to wrap his arms around her completely, gently.

             “I’m sorry,” her chest is heaving with the difficulty of her breath, the relief and the sadness and the nerve of it all. It’s all she can say, the words stuck on a loop she can’t control, the words that should have replaced her running. She lets him cling to her, her face against his chest, one of his hands running soothingly along her hair. With each apology Orpheus longs to hold her tighter, longer, long enough to wash both of their tears away. His shirt is damp with her grief and his cheeks are raw from wiping his own tears with the rough backs of his hands.

             “Do you want to talk?” He waits until her breathing has slowed, her body has fit itself against him without shaking. She hiccups, sniffs and nods her head. Orpheus does not move from her side, keeps an arm wrapped around her as she turns to face her apartment.

             It’s a tiny studio, a shoebox stereotypical to the experience of living in a city. In one small room she’s fit a loveseat of scratched up leather, a rickety shelf with an amount of books that do not fit, a pile started on the floor next to it. There’s a small houseplant with browning leaves set in front of a tiny window, a valiant effort as he notices her view of the old brick of another building. The kitchen cabinets are hung haphazardly, as if by second thought. He can tell she’d tried to fix them by the way she’s kept them, one set of cabinet doors tied together with a craftily thought-out system of ribbon and neatly tied knots. In one corner of the shoebox space there’s a mattress on the floor-just a top sheet and an old quilt on top.

             There are memories; Eurydice sinking into his bed the first night with a sigh, the way she’d slept completely splayed out and wrapped tight in his blankets. She’d apologized so much, sat with that slight stiffness in her back and attempted to refuse the breakfast he’d made. The longer she stayed the more he noticed her little quirks; the way she kept a corner of his thick blankets between her fingers while they watched a movie, her texts of outpouring gratitude each time he hid a snack in her backpack or brough her a lunch. He remembers the way she spooked at the noises of the bar below at first, how she locked the door twice at night as if she didn’t trust herself. It had taken her so long to become fully acclimated to his space-their space. He’d thought the stiffness in her body and the hesitation in her actions had been a result of the wall she’d kept up, the wall he’d been trying to tap gently though.

             “I, uh…I wasn’t expecting company,” She attempts an awkward sort of humor as she bites her lip. “You can sit, you know. It’s not…it’s comfortable.” She gestures to the well-worn loveseat and he obliges, pulling her down and wrapping his arm around her shoulder. Her body responds to his touch with a sigh, a muscle memory, a craving that’s nearly tense in nature. It had only been two days, but the span of time without the comforting smell of his skin and the softness of his voice had felt like months. She’d wrapped herself in loneliness and accepted that the world was not made for her, laid in her own bed for a day as time passed around her without her own knowledge.

             She’d let herself shut down completely and still, Orpheus had come.

             “How’d you know where I live?” She has to ask the question on her mind, the one that had made her think that his knocking and calling her name had been nothing but her last thread of hope sewing itself into a hallucination.

             “Persephone told me.”

             “I’m sorry.”

             “You don’t have to say that anymore.” His finger reaches for her chin, gently tips it up so she can see the sincerity in his eyes. “I messed up too.”

             “You didn’t do anything, Orpheus. It was me. You were trying to help. You were excited. And Persephone was too. I just…it set something off in me, her offering money and clothes. People just…they used to do that to me all the time with this look in their eyes that…it was dehumanizing. Even as a kid I knew it. But I shouldn’t have reacted the way that I did. It’s not okay. I hurt you. You don’t have to be okay with that because you don’t deserve to be hurt.”

             He has never seen her so upset; that hint of anger runs in tandem with a tenderness, a passionate resolve that strikes him as the final word. She will not let him continue to think that this fight is his fault, that her leaving the store and staying away from him had anything to do with his helpfulness or his excitement. She will not let him believe that this is his fault, not when their relationship is still so new.

             With Orpheus beside her on the scratched up leather, listening to the sounds of doors slamming and her upstairs neighbors very clearly arguing again, Eurydice is caught between the life she’d grown accustomed to and the life she’d been trying to leave behind. She hadn’t told Orpheus about this place-once a source of absolute pride as she used her own keys on the door and paid her own bills each month. She hadn’t told him much of anything-just flashes of her past as they’d come, filtered bits of herself.

             There isn’t shame; she refuses to feel shame for what she’d been through, how she’d fought to get this little rundown shoebox. More than anything, Eurydice had wanted to believe that maybe the pieces of herself she’d grown to know-the pieces that so closely resembled her mother-would fade away as she left her past behind her. The decision wasn’t completely cognizant, rather a piece-by-piece display of fright. The intricately lain fabric of her life had been torn so many times that one sentence had sent her into a spiral of panic. Leaving had seemed like the only option.

             Eurydice braces herself with a deep breath. Orpheus is here. He sits and waits patiently. He’s come to talk-to let her cry. He hadn’t left her. He’d come to find her.

             “I’m going to start talking, and I need you to just listen. I need to tell you some things that might get hard to hear. You deserve to know more about me than what I’ve told you. I’m not looking for pity, and I’m not looking for you to save me because I’ve already saved myself. I just…my actions weren’t justified, but they didn’t come from you. You didn’t cause my running away, and I should have never done it.”

             “Okay,” Orpheus shifts in his seat, waiting. His mossy eyes are trained patiently on her, their color swimming with warmth-adoration. Eurydice finds an immediate sense of comfort here, in this space typically lacking the overwhelming sense of security she finds in him. His arm around her shoulder brings her strength, and she begins.

             It’s not something she’s done before, this rote recitation of her past. She’d run through the basics so many times that this deeper diving feels immensely intimate, more than shedding a few layers of clothing or sharing the password on her phone. Her gaze shifts between Orpheus and the wall as she talks, and she becomes acutely aware of the way he pulls her closer at the harder parts; and then they left me there-my dad told me I was too much like her-I chose to tell them everything that happened-I never thought I’d get out. There are memories she hadn’t accessed in a while, things she’d buried deep with the hope that they’d soon just become another part of her fabric, a fraying thread in her own tapestry. These are the things that bring Orpheus to tears, to kissing her hair-her forehead-her eyelids-with a hummingbird sort of delicacy mismatching the protection of his hold on her body, his hand on the space where their baby grows.

             It’s dark when Eurydice finishes-when her mouth has become dry from talking, crying, kissing him again. Their cheeks share reddened moisture as they brush against each other gently, slowly, without words or explanation. They sit like this for a while, Eurydice’s body suddenly heavy with the ghosts of her memories.

“Will you come home?” He asks her so softly that she nearly believes the words are imaginary-that the way he’d been holding her for this immeasurable amount of time had been just a result of exhaustion and wishful thinking. When she looks up at him, he is real-unfalteringly real. He emphasizes the word as if it were made just for them, just for the space they had created and the life they’d begun to share. Home. Her lips lift in a softened grin.

“I really want to come home.”

             There’s immediate comfort.

             “Go take a shower.” Orpheus urges, “I’m going to make something quick for dinner.” She sighs happily, thankfully, and her eyes close as he kisses her forehead, runs a hand along her arm. She hadn’t taken a decent shower since she’d left, her apartment boasting lukewarm water temperatures and a lack of water pressure. The scalding water soothes her immediately, just as the gentle rainwater scent of the handcrafted soap Demeter had given them.

             Eurydice puts on a pair of sweatpants and one of his shirts. His clothes hang loose on her frame, but less and less as time passes. She’s thankful for the bump that brushes against the fabric, that causes the cloth to hug and drape differently than it had just a few months ago. Even with the exhaustion of the day settling into her body, she feels a hefty weight begin to drift off of her shoulders.

             Hair still damp, Eurydice walks with bare feet back into the open living space. She smiles at the shelves lined with photographs, puts the needle back over the last record he’d been playing. It’s an older sound, all brass and bluesy rhythms, and the sound fills the space with a harmony she hadn’t known she’d been missing. Her fingers run along the strings of his guitar collection where she stops and stands still, admiring the way he’d had them hung on the wall, put in stands on the floor. Each piece of the room is a piece of Orpheus; kind, gentle Orpheus. Her eyes begin to mist at the sight of his favored guitar case lain open on the ground, the last ultrasound photo of their daughter tacked inside with care.

             She finds herself on the couch without a second thought, lost in the sound of the music and the relative quiet of this neighborhood. Eurydice can hear the sound of Orpheus humming along to the record she’d chosen, his bustling in the kitchen. She considers getting up, walking the short distance and standing there with him while he cooks. Her body protests, having searched for this comfort that soothes her throbbing joints for so long. Her eyes close reflexively, the sounds and the warmth washing over her with a sense of irreplaceable peace.

             He finds her like this; head leaned back on the sofa, one leg draped over the edge of the couch and the other neatly on it. Her hair has half-dried, puffed up and waved. The slightest bit of a snore accompanies her slow, even breaths, and Orpheus chuckles to himself as he listens to the sound. He does not want to wake her, but the couch leaves little room for her to move and his worry flies to her back, her neck.

             He calls her name softly, one hand in her hair and his lips on her cheek. She groans, shifts her position and cracks her eyes open for just a second. She rubs at her eyes, yawning when she hears her name again.

             “Do you want to eat?” He asks. She shakes her head, smiling apologetically.

             “Just sleep,” she mutters, the grogginess evident in the light, slightly graveled tone of her voice. “So tired.”

             “You need to go to bed, this couch is going to hurt your back.”

             “Come with me?”

             She lifts herself off of the sofa with a herculean effort, blinking back to the light of the room. He shuffles around, shutting off the lights and the music, wrapping up their food for another day. By the time he makes it to bed she’s half-asleep; eyes closed, limbs splayed out comfortably, one hand neatly lain across the little bump of her belly. Orpheus lays another blanket over her, brushes her flyaway hair from her eyes and kisses the cheeks that had been stained with tears. She feels his weight as he lays beside her, shuffles herself over until she’s pressed up against him. He settles quickly with her next to him again, listens to the music of her breathing.

             Before he can fall fully asleep he can hear Eurydice whisper against the darkness, feel her kiss on his shoulder and the sigh of contentment that matches his.

             She tells him she loves him, and he holds her closer as he whispers back to her.

             I love you. You’re home.