#I think we all can agree how precious Shelly is

[starrysupercell]

So... Now that your writing bug is back... Could we get a drabble of Belle and Byron with the sibilings theory? Go ham :)

Lmao. This was at the top of the list ahaha what do you mean

Anyway, I'm still getting a feel for Belle, but for now I'm going for a mix of Kissing Kate Barlow's montage (not the backstory- the tone. Important.) and a very, VERY light dose of Azula... mostly for the siblings thing!

......and yet again I make it a set-up to a story rather than a drabble or one shot. Like some of the other stuff I've written, I wonder if there should be oneshot followups? x.x we'll see..

•🐍• Risk & Reward •🦝•

"Byron." Piper said sternly.

"That's odd. I don't remember hearing a knock.." Byron said lightly. He sat in his chair, faced away from the door, from her, from the world. "Or saying come in."

"There's been reports of the Goldarm Gang being seen around here." Piper went on. "We need to take action. Either hire more security, or outfit the building with further measures."

She heard the rustle of a newspaper page being turned. "There's no need for concern." Came his nonchalant response.

The woman placed her fists on her hips. She would not be casually dismissed like this. "You're looking at the news yourself. You know this isn't just another band of petty criminals."

Byron closed up the papers, folding it up neatly before swiveling around and turning to face Piper. "You're right. I do know that."

He was smiling, in that particular way where he knows something she doesn't. How infuriating... but begrudgingly comforting.

She sighed silently, then smiled passively. "I know there's no use trying to find out what's going on with you. I also came to let you know I'm putting in a request for a week off."

He leaned his head in his hand, frowning. "You have no faith in me, Piper."

"I have some faith in you." She smirked, "I do have matters to attend to, actually. This isn't a luxury getaway. A couple of old friends are looking to start bounty hunting. I wish to lend my support."

"I see." He muttered, looking to the side. "Very well. We'll find a way to manage without you around here. Thank you for letting me know."

"It's no problem." She said, recognizing that tone and demeanor. "If things go well, I can be back sooner?" She offered.

Byron shook his head. "That won't be necessary... You take care of your business, Piper," He looked pointedly down at the grainy quality of the main headline's picture. "And I'll take care of mine."

[ ($) ] [ ($) ] [ ($) ] [ ($) ] [ ($) ]

The rumors were only just starting, so he figured that there would be some window of a time frame to prepare some things. Currently, he was recording inventory, and had plans over the money and several safes he had. (Even without this Golden Arm threat, he was a very careful man.)

He wouldn't be surprised if she had already started to scope the area around here. That no-good, sneaky turncoat, gold-lifting thief of a sister..!

Byron frowned, his jaw clenching and his temper easily flaring at the thought of her.

He sighed, smoothing out a part of his hair with his fingers. There was no use for paranoia or anger here. It'd only hinder him.

He focused about which modifications to his place. Piper was right, but he knew brute force wouldn't work. His sister was crafty, but still lazy no doubt. When you take the easy way out, you're bound to always be a weaselly, good for nothing...

He blinked. Focus.

[ ($) ] [ ($) ] [ ($) ] [ ($) ] [ ($) ]

That week's work of preparation went for both sides. Belle sat with her drink as she checked out the lobby of the place. She had a more casual set of clothes to avoid detection. Jacket, gloves, no trademark glasses. She would stay low.

This place was popular for sure. Reports from other members confirmed as such.

She wasn't so surprised, considering who owned the place, but she was surprised at the ambiance. Cheery piano music, tame audience and a prim and peppy bartender. If this wasn't just a cover for anything on the sidelines, he turned out to be such a sellout!

Belle's grin was shrouded by the held to her lips. Too bad her little brother never grew a backbone and left those control freaks. For him that is. This was just a pit filled with gold just begging to be tapped. And she intended to answer those calls. The sooner, the better.

She downed her drink, and stood. She left enough to cover it and then plenty. As she passed by the performing bot, she left a generous tip for him as well. He gave a grateful bow, and continued his musical jig.

The heist pulled here would more than cover these 'losses,' but anything that goes towards bots was well worth it. Belle idly tugged at her jacket sleeve as she walked out.

They would strike soon.

[ ($) ] [ ($) ] [ ($) ] [ ($) ] [ ($) ]

The first day of the following week, Piper returned. She hummed a tune as she walked into the bar, and headed to the back.

Things went swimmingly. Poco and Primo's friend, Amber, got her start thanks to Piper's investment. Her first job went well enough.. in the end. It was a productive week overall. The group even went out for a celebration afterwards, where, Piper recalled with a fond smile, that mysterious woman left quite an impression on her. She looked forward to seeing her again.

Her recollection of that magical night came to a screeching halt when the ruins of the place came to her attention.

"What in the..?" She muttered, looking around at the broken tables and more.

"Watch your step!" Barely advised, working on cleaning up a section of the room.

"Oh, Byron didn't heed my warning, did he?" She lifted her dress slightly to walk around the mess. "It'll do him well, if he has to learn this way." she complained as ladylike as always, "Maybe now he won't dismiss me, though I still won't think it likely. I still expect to be paid to work too."

"So that's what you really think." Byron said, leaning against a wall. He was amused, and straightened up. "Follow me. Both of you."

The robot and lady glanced at each other, but followed the owner of the place.

"We may have been hit, but I assure you that not a thing of value has been taken." He monologued as he led them down the hall. "The destruction of the place was only superficial, caused by the anger and frustration of an uncouth band of petty bandits."

Piper listened and noted they entered his office. So what kind of trick did he pull?

"Praytell, Sir. You're saying the only thing we have to worry about is the funds and time to clean up the mess?" Barley asked.

"That's right." Byron responded, a tint of pride to his voice. "I've replaced every precious gem and all the gold we've had stashed with lookalikes and Fool's. They've got nothing!"

He walked over to a section of a wall behind his desk and let a laugh escape him as he removed a frame from it. The wall behind was removable to show an empty space. "To add insult to injury, I left the most valuable item we owe in here." He reached in, pulled out the fake back cover and revealed a medium-sized box. "So it was right under their noses, and they left completely empty handed!"

"The most valuable?... Byron..." Piper frowned. "I trust you know well, but don't you think that was a risk? That precious statuette is sought after by everyone. It shouldn't be used as a trophy."

"Quite." Barley agreed. "With all my respect, Sir, you did this without even informing me." He sounded upset.

"...It's still here," Byron said weakly to his defense after a pause. He sighed. Maybe he had let more of his emotions guide his defense of their business. "I suppose.. I was letting things get personal. I'll admit it." He turned the box toward himself, and went to press the combination of numbers that would open the safebox. "Perhaps, I haven't been completely honest either. The leader of the Gold Arm Ga--" As he pressed the last button of the lock, the box lid flipped open and a light electric shock ran through his body, freezing him in place.

Piper gasped. Barley's arm reached out, roughly smacking the metal box out of Byron's hands and into the ground.

The box landed, and the only thing that fell out was a single slip of paper.

"It's missing!" Piper exclaimed.

Barley was near Byron in an instant. "Are you alright?" He asked the man leaning heavily against the wall.

The salesman didn't answer. His eyes were hyper-fixated on the single spilled content of the box. He pulled away from the wall and the service bot and leaned down to pick up the torn scrap.

'Dumbass!' was the only thing scrawled on it. Byron scrunched it up in his fist.

[ ($) ] [ ($) ] [ ($) ] [ ($) ] [ ($) ]

"Shelly!" Belle cheered, "Pass me our winnings!"

A young woman with dark hair and an eye patch grabbed the shining figure of a cactus, adorned with priceless jewels.

She tossed over with a grin, and Belle caught it.

The leader of the Gold Arms stepped on a chair, then the table. "Look here, folks!" She called for attention. Her bandits instantly quieted their idle buzz. "We all did great last night. That slippery eel may have thrown us for a loop, but as usual, we united prevail!! Together, we've hit the jackpot!" She held the statuette up for her crew to see and cheer on. "When they cover this, the Golden Arm Gang will be unforgettable! And if we stick together, we'll always be untouchable!"

Cheers, and their celebratory times went on. Drinking, chatting, cheerful.

Belle grinned and hopped off the table at the crowd's energy. She pocketed the figurine. Life was finally good.

She sat and eyed the bag of loot they took along despite its worthlessness.

Maybe it wasn't so bad? The false gems could be used in a scam, she supposed, Some folks didn't know how to separate reals from placeholders.

She looked through it, and noted a box that had been unopened. Oh. That might have been when they were trashing the place when they discovered a lot of the valuables were actually cheap fakes.

She clicked the simple lock mechanism of the box open, just to sate her curiosity. There was a small, square sheet that was neatly tucked into the recently-opened box that held the mystery fog.

'Dunce.' It said, written in a very neat cursive.

"Ah, shit," Belle said, feeling lightheaded. She realized far too late. "That little...." she slumped forward, out cold. Her golden arm dropped the container.

A poison fog traveled from the box throughout the room, slowly knocking out the rest of the thieves in the hideout. They were fine, but all would wake up in an hour or so with pounding headaches and heavy nausea for days to come.

Just a little gift exchange amongst siblings, nothing more.

[betweensceneswriter]

Island Hopper-Chapter 27: So Long, Farewell

Claire & Jamie head home, but unexpected surprises await them.

Previously on Island Hopper:

Chapter 26: Forgive me, Father… Jamie’s got a lot of built up bitterness toward his father.

ISLAND HOPPER (Jimjeran Book 2) Table of Contents

ISLAND FEVER (Jimjeran Book 1) Table of Contents

     Jamie reached down to give my mom a hug.  With her arms around his neck she kissed him on the cheek.

“I really do love you, Mister Jamie,” she said.  “Your mama would be so proud of you.”

The look on his face was precious—an affectionate smile and a flush of pride.

“Thanks for opening up your home to us,” he beamed, with an extra squeeze and a slight lift that made Mom laugh outright when he put her down, her face flushing as well.

“You’re welcome to visit anytime, son,” my dad said, reaching his hand out to shake Jamie’s.  He was more reserved than my mom but I could see his eyes twinkle as he put his arm around Jamie’s shoulders before we continued to make our farewells.

“I’m not sure I’m ready to let you go, man,” Seth said, putting out his hand to shake Jamie’s and then pulling him into a hug.  “Who is going to pace me on my morning jogs?”

“Ye just need to find a reason to do your final film project out on Arno,” Jamie told him after pounding him on the back affectionately. “Then it willna be as long before we get to jog together again.”

“You look out for my sister,” Shelly ordered Jamie as she hugged me.  “After what we’ve been studying in my global climate class, I’m worried about this upcoming storm season.”

We were waiting in the TSA line when John and Joe came rushing down the hall.  I did a double take when I realized John didn’t have a bit of luggage with him.

At Jamie’s curious shrug and the question in his eyes, John blushed.

“I changed my flight,” he explained.  “I was going to be flying back today, but I… we…” He glanced over at Joe.

“What the…?” I blurted out, looking from John to Joe and then back again. I’m sure my confusion was written all over my face, but so were my matchmaking suspicions.

Joe put his hand affectionately on John’s shoulder and raised an eyebrow at me. “You can stop grinning, Claire,” he ordered me.  “I know you’re jumping around on the inside.”

“Are you kidding me?” I exclaimed, grabbing Joe by the waist and squeezing him, looking up into his face to see his dark eyes twinkling down at me.  He hugged me back, and as I looked over at John's shy smile I whispered to Joe, “This is one of the good ones, Joegie.”

“Do the two of you want to stay with us?” my mom piped up.  “It would save you the cost of a hotel, and with Jamie and Claire leaving, there’s a room free in our house.”

“Thanks, Robin,” Joe responded.  “But this—” he said, meeting John’s eyes, “is so new, that might be awkward.”

“Well, at least come for dinner tonight,” she insisted.  “I’m going to be going through kid withdrawals by then.”

My eyes were pricking with tears and I found myself hugging my mom gratefully.  I knew that many of their Christian friends and colleagues were not as open minded, but my dad’s background in counseling had convicted them several years back that bigotry and judgment had no place in a loving life.

When I let go of my mom, I met Jamie’s eyes.  We were almost at the front of the line, our family members having traveled with us through the weaving queue leading up to the security check-in.

“I've made a decision,” Jamie declared, as we pulled the cart carrying our backpacks forward a few more steps.  I looked up at him curiously.  “I think I’ll just stay here,” he said brightly.  “I’ve bonded with your family, Claire, and I dinna want to travel on the Island Hopper again.  It makes me queasy just to think of it.”

“Jamie, honey,” my mom said reassuringly, patting his arm.  “You’ve got those copper pressure point bracelets I got for you, and you’ve taken your motion sickness medicine.  When you get on the plane, take the antihistamine Claire has for you and you’ll fall asleep.  You’ll be boring company for Claire, but you won’t feel nearly as sick.”

Jamie grinned down at my mom and put his arm around her.  “Thanks, Robin,” he said.  “I canna thank ye enough for looking out for me.”

“I’m a momma,” she said.  “And you’re one of my kids now, too.”

There was a lump in my throat as Jamie and I put our backpacks on the conveyor belt and stopped at the bench to take off our shoes.  I turned back one last time as we left the security area to go to our gate, and saw six familiar faces gazing at us, six arms waving furiously until we couldn’t see them anymore.

Jamie stopped me as we rounded the corner.  I had let out a little sob, and he dropped his backpack and took me in his arms.

“It hurts to say goodbye,” he whispered, his head bending close to mine.  “But how blessed we are to have your family so close.”

I nodded and took his hand as we headed toward home.

The text on my phone was as abrupt as the man himself. When does your plane arrive?

I shook my head in confusion, typing “7:17 pm” and hitting send.

Next to me, Jamie gave a soft snort, shifted in his seat, and then returned to the even breathing of sleep.

I will meet you then, came the reply.

Thanks, I responded.

You should stay with us tonight.

That would be nice.  Thanks.

The Iroij and I have a request. Let’s talk when you get here.

Dougal’s final response left me disquieted.

Dougal and the Iroij? What could they want, and why the need to prepare us for it?

I had been fretting about Dougal's announcement for nearly an hour when a deep breath and expansive stretch from Jamie next to me announced that the antihistamine effects might be wearing off.  He nuzzled my neck and then took my hand in his, drawing it into his lap.

“Jamie!” I whispered, “We are in an airplane, you goober.  There are people around!”

“Ifrinn, that is a shame,” came his slow good-humored reply.  With one final motion that brought me in lingering contact with his wake up show-and-tell, he released my hand and kissed me on the shoulder.

“Perhaps later,” he murmured.

“At Dougal's house?” I asked dubiously, handing him my phone.

He read over the messages, his forehead furrowing as he blinked the sleep from his eyes.

“What could they possibly want from us?” Jamie mused, yawning as he handed the phone back to me.

What indeed? I wondered, looking out the window at the never-ending landscape of blue ocean and the occasional cloud. I had to satisfy myself with the reassurance that we would find out soon enough.

“How were your travels?” Dougal asked once he had helped us load our things into the trunk of his car and he had turned down Lagoon Drive leaving the airport. The sun had set and all we could see was faint pink in the west over the lights of Delap.

“Remarkably good,” Jamie responded with a deep sigh, stretching his legs out and sinking into the front seat.  “Even spending today on the Island Hopper, I dinna feel horrible, though I do feel stiff and sore.  Dinna think I got off the plane once.”  He glanced over his shoulder at me in the back seat.  “As for Guam, the whole trip was brilliant.  Claire’s family was so welcoming I already love them.” Before turning back to face Dougal, he winked at me.

“Any other news?” Dougal asked, unaware of the shade thrown his way.

“Well, my da called me,” Jamie mentioned off-handedly.

“He did, then,” Dougal responded gravely. “He had called to get your information and I gave him Claire’s phone number.  How are ye, lad?”

“Not sure… Still in a state of shock, I guess, though I should probably call him before we leave Majuro,” Jamie replied.

Dougal didn’t ask any more questions, and Jamie didn’t offer any more information the few remaining minutes until we reached the MacKenzie home.

“The Iroij and I would like the two of you to take Perkaj home,” was Dougal’s request.  He had restrained himself until supper, once we were sitting in chairs around the dining table with him and Revka and Moneo.

I shared a confused glance with Jamie. How was that a request that needed much consideration?  “Well, of course we can take him back to Arno,” I responded.

“I dinna believe you grasp my meaning,” Dougal said, leaning forward. “We need you to take him back to Arno and keep him in your home for a time.”

“What about Maria?” I asked, confused.

“Aye, what about his auntie?” Jamie chimed in.

“She stayed for a week but then left,” Dougal explained, “convinced that the task was beyond her.  She isn’t prepared to monitor his blood sugars and take charge of his diabetic care.”

“And his parents?” I asked.  I glanced over at Jamie, whose brow was furrowed in thought.

“With several younger children in the home, I don't think his parents can be expected to take it on either,” Dougal reasoned. “But the Iroij and I feel like it would be cruel to put him in medical foster care here on Majuro, so far from his home.”

“No, that wouldna be right,” said Jamie, shaking his head. He reached over and put his hand on my knee.

“I agree,” said Dougal.  “So we would like the two of you to consider accepting this responsibility.  To have him come live with you for a time.”  He paused to let the concept sink in.  “We honestly can't imagine a better environment.  You with your medical background, Claire.  And you, Jamie, a teacher—close to him all day so you can monitor his blood sugars during school and coach him on eating and giving himself insulin.  The both of you will be there to help him through the night and in the morning.”

“But willna he miss his family?” Jamie asked.  “It may confuse him for them to just be down the lane.”

Dougal nodded briefly. “Mr. Timisen and I were thinking his life should be as normal as possible.  We would like him to eat a meal with his family each day and play with friends in the afternoon.  But until they are confident he is in a situation with the support to keep his blood sugar level, the hospital won’t even release him to let him return home.”

“Aye.” Jamie answered with conviction when Dougal finally paused in his reasons. “Of course we will help the wee laddie.”

I was still taking it in, thinking about the challenges of bringing a seven-year-old into our home.

I glanced over at Jamie to see if I could catch his eye—to see if I could signal to him that perhaps we should talk first.

Instead I saw him lean back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, on his face a wry smile.

“Am I to understand, Uncle,” he mused, “that as a married couple, Claire and I are actually better suited to be of benefit to the islanders on Arno than we were unmarried?”

Dougal’s generally gruff countenance softened at his nephew’s teasing comment.

“Aye, son, you’ve proven your point,” he said, shaking his head with a grin.  “And I said as much to Claire on our field ship voyage—that I was wrong to judge her effectiveness based on the actions of one night, and that I truly see now what an impact she is having.”

“As I said, of course we will be happy to take Perkaj home wi’ us,” Jamie repeated, smiling over at me proudly.

By that point both men were looking at me in expectation. What other choice was there? We were there for the sake of the islanders, not our own selfish impulses.

“So,” I said brightly.  “What do we need to do to get ready for a temporary son?”

Perkaj looked so small in the hospital bed. He'd always been a cheerful student and joker, his chubby face often in a smile.  Now he looked shrunken and serious as the endocrinologist showed us the tester, the insulin pen, and the syringe for long-acting insulin.

I had done an endocrinology rotation in nursing school.  Despite this, the prospect of learning to be a human pancreas was daunting. I held back, but Jamie instantly sat down by the boy, taking his hand in his and talking to him in Marshallese.  Perkaj answered his questions in a small voice, and Jamie kept up a constant stream of conversation until the doctor was ready to continue.

“Go ahead and speak to him in Majel,” Jamie directed the doctor.  “I’ll translate for Claire.”

I appreciated how Dr Langenbelik also sat down at Perkaj’s level to show him the insulin pen as he told us they’d already administered his long-acting insulin for the day, the dose given each morning to provide a baseline level of insulin in the bloodstream for the day.  As we were talking, a breakfast tray arrived from the cafeteria.  On it was a range of island menu staples—a small bowl of rice, a piece of grilled fish, some baked breadfruit, sliced papaya, and two white flour pancakes.

“Knowing how much insulin to take with each meal is very important,” the doctor was telling Perkaj.  “You need to get good at counting your carbs.”

The doctor cupped his hand and held it up in front of Perkaj.

“That’s about a half cup,” Jamie translated in a whispered aside, “That is the size of a serving of food.”  He stopped and listened as the doctor explained while pointing to the items on the tray, then turned back to interpret for me.  “A half cup of anything sweet or starchy—rice or pancakes, fruit or breadfruit—takes one unit of insulin to enter the cells of the body.  With each meal Perkaj eats, he needs to figure out how many servings he is eating, and then he will give himself the short-acting insulin.”

“Or we can help him until he is ready to do it,” I suggested.

“Before eating anything, ledrik,” the doctor said to Perkaj, who was eyeing the food hungrily, “You need to test your blood sugar.  If you are high, you need to add an extra ____ units for each ____ points too high.  If you are too low, you need to adjust the insulin down slightly.”

Perkaj leaned back, deflated.

“Dinna worry, Perkaj,” Jamie encouraged.  “It shouldn’t take long.”

“It’s time,” the doctor said to us.  “I’m going to step back and observe as you help Perkaj with this meal.”

Jamie and I exchanged wide-eyed glances, then nodded at each other to fortify our confidence.

“Ready?” Jamie asked the young boy.  Perkaj nodded his head, sitting back up and looking eagerly at the food.  “First we should have you test your blood sugar.  Can you do that?”

With one false start and wincing as he did it, Perkaj was able to poke his fingertip with the lancet to get his blood sugar reading.  It was right on target, so as the boy looked over his plate, Jamie coached him to count the carbohydrate servings, which Perkaj adorably did by counting on his fingers.

“Enana keine” he said, making a face after a tiny taste of pancake.  “I eat the kappokpok, the keinabbu, the feesh, and the rice.  That is tree carbs.  No carb for feesh.” He looked around the tray curiously, questioning, “Is there salt? Or soy sauce?”

Once Perkaj had decided what he was hungry for, it was time to administer the short-acting insulin.  Jamie tried to hand the pen off to me, but I forced it back into his palm.  “You need to do it,” I insisted at his surprise.  “I know how to give injections. You’re the one who needs practice!”  He conceded with wide eyes and a reluctant sigh.

I coached Jamie with the insulin pen, watching as he turned the end of the cylinder until it clicked three times, one for each carb serving—the rice, the breadfruit, and the papaya.

“But I don’t want to hurt him,” Jamie objected when I pulled up Perkaj’s sleeve and exposed the back of his arm where Jamie was to give him the injection.

“Is okay, Meester Shamie,” Perkaj said reassuringly, bravely squaring his jaw as Jamie did the same, looking away as Jamie firmly jabbed the needle into the boy’s arm and pressed the plunger to dispense the insulin units into his bloodstream.

Jamie shuddered when it was done, murmuring “Jolok bod,” to Perkaj.

“Echelok bod, Meester Shamie,” Perkaj said cheerily.  “You did bery good. Emetak only jiddik.”

Dr. Langenbelik approached, a smile on his face.  “Excellent,” he said.  “Now eat your breakfast, Perkaj—we want to make sure there are carbohydrates in your body when the insulin is in your bloodstream.”

Perkaj seemed hungry and grateful to get food in his system again.  As he ate, the doctor turned and talked to the two of us quietly.

“Our goal is to get Perkaj trained to take on his diabetic care himself.  Until he does, though, I am grateful that the two of you are willing to take on the responsibility.  Not every young person diagnosed with type 1 has family members who feel ready to help them get through the learning process.”

“I don’t feel ready,” Jamie said to the doctor.  “But I dinna think we have much choice.”

We took shifts staying with Perkaj during the twenty-four hours before the Jolok boat was to take us home.  I stayed with him while Jamie went to the hardware store to buy the last of the things he needed for the solar still and storm-proofing our house.  I had taken one of Revka’s books with me and spent several hours reading Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone to Perkaj.

Jamie arrived, giving me a quick hug before going right to Perkaj’s bedside.  He picked up where I left off with the book while I went to do our grocery shopping for fresh produce and dry goods for the next few weeks.

“Our blood sugar is right on target!” Jamie announced when I returned to the hospital in the late afternoon after dropping off the food boxes at Dougal’s house.  He showed me the little notebook where they had marked down Perkaj’s pre-meal blood sugar level, the amount of insulin, the number of servings he had eaten, and then the mid-afternoon blood sugar level.

Perkaj seemed to be tired by then, but Jamie continued to sit by his bed holding his hand as the boy’s eyes repeatedly blinked and then closed.

I stood behind Jamie, massaging his shoulders as I watched the little boy sleeping.

“Not exactly what you pictured as your first child, is he?” Jamie whispered, rolling his head back and forth and groaning as I hit tight muscles.

“A little bigger than I expected,” I joked, smiling as Jamie grabbed my hand and kissed it.

“Are you okay with this?” Jamie asked, turning to look up at me. “I'm the one who deals with kids most of the time. You want a baby, but our baby.  This is different, to be sure.”

“I’m terrified, honestly,” I responded, leaning forward and putting my arms around Jamie’s shoulders, my cheek against his as we both stared at Perkaj.  “I know we’re capable, but this is such a responsibility.”

I could feel a lump growing in my throat and I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself.  “And I was so looking forward to being alone again.”

Jamie chuckled and brought his hands up to rest on my arms. “That day will come.”  He pressed his cheek against mine as he looked at the little dark-haired form in front of us.  “This will just be a season, like your da said.”  He took a breath and then began hesitantly.  “Now, I was thinking Perkaj will do better if he doesna wake up all alone.  Can I stay here wi’ him tonight?”

“Of course,” I responded.

“So do you want to stay here wi’ us, or go to Dougal’s house?”

“Dougal will need their car in the morning,” I said with a sigh, looking at the narrow guest couch edging the window. “And all our groceries are there at their house.  I’ll need to pack them up before we come to pick Perkaj up for the ride on the Jolok boat.”

“I’ll see you in the morning, then?” he asked.  As he stood and took me in his arms I closed my eyes, breathing in his familiar scent, listening to the reassuring thump of his heart.

“Yes,” I sighed.  Then I reached up, pulled his face down to mine and kissed him thoroughly.

He chuckled.  “Trying to make me regret my choice?”

“No,” I answered.  “I just love you.”

When I left the room I looked back—pausing just to watch Jamie sitting in the chair next to the bed, leaning his arms on the railing and looking down at the dark-haired form covered by a thin blue blanket.

On to Chapter 28: Just Add Water

Certain things are instant.  Not usually sons.

[floweryfandomnerd]

Oz’s Tea Party

@itstheendandweareallfallingup your wish is my command so look what I finished! Enjoy your fluffy fanfiction because we all know we didn’t get any canon (haha *cries*)

Word Count: 2934 words

True to Glen Baskerville’s word, Oz finds the abyss as it was before Lacie extraordinarily beautiful. He doesn’t think he’ll ever grow tired of its golden light. It’s a shame that time passes so quickly there, his hundred year cycle will be up in what feels like only days - weeks at most. And so he thinks he’ll have to make the most of it.

Not everyone is there - no Sharon or Liam or Gil or Ada or Vincent or Leo - he almost wishes they were because he’d have loved them to be at his tea party. Maybe it wouldn’t quite have been fair to them. Still, there are lots of Oz’s friends attending. Out of all of them, Elliot is by far the loudest.

He grabs Oz by the shirt and holds him up to look him in the eye, (the kid is short, what is he supposed to do?)

“It is evidently summer down here, so please explain to me why you have decided to use winter teas?!” Elliot all but yells at him.

Oz laughs, disentangling himself from Elliot’s strong grip, “We’re using them because people like them, Ell-i-ot.”

Elliot shakes his head in disagreement, “That’s not a good enough reason… You have to have appropriate tea for the occasion! Do you know anything about being a nobleman?”

Oz shrugs, “Not really. I kind of didn’t get the time before, well stuff happened.” He was kind of cast into the abyss before he could really learn anything, after all. Although it was quite different from what it is now; no more broken toy boxes.

Elliot splutters for a moment, he’d almost forgotten all of that, “Well- well!” Clearing his throat, he slowly regains his composure, “Anyway, we should have green teas and the like, instead you decided to go with Earl Grey and Darjeeling! It’s unacceptable!”  

“There’s not really any seasons down here, what’s wrong with winter tea? We could use any tea we want!” Oz begins listing off the seasons and why he likes their different types of tea, “We could have spring teas because they’re refreshing and slightly sweet.”

He counts on his fingers every point of his list “Iced green summer teas because they’re light and cool. White and oolong autumn teas because they’re the perfect mix between summer and winter. Black winter teas are great too! They warm you up with cinnamon and spices. We chose winter because they won the vote.” Oz keeps it to himself that only Alice, Break and Elliot had actually voted - unfortunately for Elliot they won against his green tea.

“Why don’t we use both? Would that satisfy you?”

“That would defeat the point!” Elliot snaps at him, he tries not to be too harsh - it is only tea, after all.

“Well then I guess we’re sticking with winter.” Oz smiles mock-sweetly at Elliot.

Elliot glares at Oz with disdain over his tea choices; there’s not really anything he can do to change it though, and he’s already given Oz a piece of his mind so he stomps off. He always argues with Oz over the most ridiculous things, maybe he sort of finds it fun. He can’t quite decide whether Leo would have punched him under the pretense of correcting his master’s behaviour or if he’d have just ignored them with his head stuck in a book.

Perhaps Leo would have just laughed at the thought of a Nightray and a Vessalius getting along so well. Quite a shame that he wouldn’t get to see it. Elliot thinks that he might as well enjoy the tea party even though the tea may not have been up to standard. It’s beautiful today and the sound of such genuine laughter isn’t one he commonly gets to hear. He revels in it, running off to join in.

Oz watches him fondly, Elliot looks much lighter than he used to. Cheshire sidles up to him, rubbing his face against his legs. The bell on his collar chimes quietly. Oz bends down to stroke Alyss’s beloved pet; Cheshire purrs loudly when Oz scratches at his ears. Alyss runs up to them, hair bouncing behind her and chasing her precious cat back to him.

Behind her, Alice is a little slower, but still making her way over. Cheshire is scooped up in Alyss’s arms when Alice links hers with his. “You can’t just stay all the way over here Oz. It’s your tea party!”

Alyss agrees, “All your friends are here, you should go and have fun with them!” She wanders off back to the table of food. It’s kind of strange to her, being surrounded by people like this. They include her so easily though, jesting and joking around, it’s like she’s known them her entire life.

Beside him Alice bounces excitedly on the balls of her feet, “Come on Oz, let’s go eat all the nice meat that you made!” She starts almost dragging him, smiling up at him with sparkling eyes and rosy cheeks, “I might even save some for you!”

Oz laughs, “Well, given that I made it, it would be mean if you didn’t.”

She waves her finger in his face, “You can’t expect that when you made such good meat!” Alice pulls out a chair, settling in next to Break. Oz pulls out his own chair, quietly sipping his tea as Alice ravages the meat supply and Break does the same to every cake he baked. Since he had made them all, Oz had expected to at least get one; it seems all the food will be gone before everyone gets the chance to try it.

“You know Oz-kun, you actually make pretty good food, I’m surprised.” Break says.

Alice looks almost offended, “Of course he does, Clown. He’s my property after all!”

“Still, it doesn’t match up to Gilbert’s - he was an amazing cook.” The three of them sigh wistfully, Gil’s food was always something to look forward to. Pity that he hadn’t been there to make any - if he had it would truly have been gone in an instant.

“I wish Gil were here, I miss him already,” Oz says, there’s a sad note to his voice. He never did get to spend enough time with Gil - too many things got in the way.

Alice nods, agreeing with him, “Seaweed Head said he’d wait for us Oz - you won’t have to miss him for long!” Alice does her best to remind him of that, to cheer him up. She couldn’t stand to see Oz feeling so low again.

Break distracts both of them, diverting the subject subtly, “Your taste and presentation leaves something to be desired compared to his, Oz-kun.”

Despite the difference in quality, Break finishes off the cakes just as eagerly. Such a sweet tooth. Oz and Alice both tilt their heads in confusion, the off-hand comment about presentation causing it. “How do you know what the cakes look like? Aren’t you blind?”

Break holds up a finger, “I was blind, down here I can see though,” his voice lowers just a little, “if Ojou-sama knew she’d probably force me to learn how to dance.”

“Not to worry Break, I can teach you how to dance even if Sharon isn’t here to,” Lady Shelly whispers in his ear from behind.

Break doesn’t look surprised per se, but it’s clear on his face that he’d momentarily forgotten that she would be here. He twists in his seat to face her, grimace clear in his expression. Lady Shelly offers a hand to him, an invitation to dance with her. Break groans but takes it all the same, she nods over at someone else attending and they start playing an upbeat tune on their flute for them to dance along to.

Guiding gracefully, Lady Shelly takes the lead of their dance. She steps back and forth in time with the beat of the melody, easily avoiding Break’s awkward, clumsy missteps; one would think that he was actually aiming for her toes with how often he nearly crushes them. Oz and Alice giggle quietly.

Lady Shelly murmurs quietly, her voice is as soft as silk, “You did a good job Break, taking care of my daughter.”

He swallows the slight lump in his throat, he can’t say that he doesn’t wish he did a better job, “Thank you, but I can’t say I did. She wanted me to stay longer and that I couldn’t do.”

“Don’t talk nonsense, no one could stay forever. You did a good job.”

Break nods, there’s no arguing with Lady Shelly.

Underneath the golden afternoon sun, Break and Lady Shelly are not the only gleeful dancers (though gleeful isn’t all too accurate for Break, apprehensive suits him far better). Oscar waltzes with his wife, twirling her round and round until she’s dizzy and giggling into his chest. For a moment they’re young again, young and carefree and happy. He trips, stumbling over the child playing at his feet. The child tugs on his trousers, quietly asking to be included. Oscar bends down, grabbing him up onto his shoulders.

The boy looks like him, blond hair and green eyes but with the soft features of Oscar’s wife, he’s about three or four; twenty five years or so in the abyss seems it would only age you that much - maybe it would age you less and he just wanted to age that much. He’s a true Vessalius though, that can’t be doubted. Oscar and Oz had done their fair share of fawning and cooing when they first saw him. The child has them both wrapped around his pinky fingers.

Oscar takes his wife back in his arms with his son still on his shoulders. The child digs his fingers into Oscar’s hair to hold on, Oscar winces slightly at the tugging then grins. His hands are firmly planted on his wife’s waist as they step in time to the music, right, forward, left, back, right, forward, left, back. Oscar holds his hand up, his wife’s own soft ones in his, he spins her. She almost bumps into Elliot but Oscar pulls him back to her just before.

Slightly startled, Elliot’s attention snaps from his attempt to stroke the still-purring Cheshire. He ducks back down towards the cat, reaching out to stroke him. Something blocks the warmth of the sun from his back, casting a shadow over him. Elliot looks up to find Alyss looming over him.

“I bet he’ll let you pet him if you dance with me,” her voice is almost a song, bubbling over with simple joy.

Elliot straightens himself up, taking the hand she holds out toward him. Alyss leads him to the dance floor, surprising both of them when she actually dances well. It’s almost peaceful, dancing. How long had it even been since he last danced?

Although Elliot would still rather say almost - if only for Rufus Barma’s untamed version of a dance. Waving one’s arms wildly and leaping around isn’t exactly a conventional dance. Especially not when it’s so out of time and style compared to the music. Elliot sighs.

“What’s wrong?” Alyss asks him, suddenly unsure of whether he actually wanted to dance with her.

He inclines his head in Barma’s direction, Alyss glances at him, raising a hand to her mouth to muffle her quiet laughter. It quickly turns to a scowl when Barma knocks into Oz. Oz goes flying - near enough - landing some feet away on his back. Although he props himself up on his elbows laughing, Alyss pulls away from Elliot.

She grabs Cheshire up to her chest and marches determinedly toward Barma. Her finger is pointed accusingly in his face, “How dare you hurt my precious black rabbit Oz! Get him Cheshire!”

The cat starts clawing and hissing at Barma, taking swipes at his face with his front paws. Elliot strides up to them, takes the cat in his arms and tells it off. Cheshire stops scratching at Barma. Oz stands up, brushing himself down.

Oz directs a beaming smile in Alyss’ direction, “It’s alright Alyss, why don’t we go explore? We haven’t done that yet.”

Elliot nods his head, “I’ll come with you, it sounds like fun.” He pats his arm, offering it for Alyss to take. She links arms with him.

The three of them are about to set off as the child comes barrelling into Oz’s legs, Oscar’s son grins cheekily up at them, “I wanna explore too!” He bounces up, still clinging to his cousin’s leg.

Oz laughs and takes his hand, “Okay then, let’s go!”

Someone jostles into his other side, when Oz turns to see who it is he finds himself face to face with Alice. She doesn’t even have to say the words for him to know that she wants to tag along too.  

“Last one to the top of the hill is a rotten egg!”

They race up the hill, sprinting at full speed. Almost all of them are doubled over, panting and out of breath, by the time they make it even half way up the hill. Oz has taken to giving up and flinging himself down into the grass. It’s so much steeper than he’d first thought. It vaguely reminds him of his childhood spent running around with Gil and Ada.

Alice stands triumphantly at the top, laughing proudly at herself and the weaklings who couldn’t even run up a little hill. She wasn’t going to be a rotten egg, not at all. Elliot, Oz, Alyss, Cheshire and Oscar’s son stumble up the hill eventually - after they’ve given up on the race.

They’re not quite far enough away to not hear Rufus Barma in the distance. The man is shouting something about how he was such good ‘friends’ with Lady Sheryl, and when they look down from the top they find him running away from a rather terrifying- looking Duke Nightray.

Over the other side of the hill is a small lake, surrounded by trees and rocks on some edges. There’s a wooden jetty with a small row boat tied to it using fraying rope.

“Wow!” Oz’s cousin jumps excitedly in the air, “This has so many places to explore!” It looks to have a lot of hiding places too.

“Why don’t we play hide and seek?” Alyss has a bit of a sparkle in her eyes when she suggests it.

Everyone nods.

“Okay, Alice is counting then! Everybody run and hide!”

They all do just that as Alice turns her back to them, muttering “One, two, three…”

Oz takes his cousin’s hand in his again with the others running behind them, he’d almost been shot back to when he was a kid - running around anywhere with Ada’s hand in his and Gilbert following. He really missed them.

He leaves his cousin in a hiding place behind a rock, instructing him to stay there until Alice finds him. If he does, he’ll most definitely be the winner.

“Alright! Alice will never find me here!”

Once Oz knows he’s settled for sure he scrambles off to find his own hiding place. He’d always been good at climbing trees so he shimmies up one. Finding the thickest branch possible he tries to hide himself using its leaves; he hopes Alice won’t see him too easily.

She takes a while to count. Not knowing what number she’s supposed to count to, Alice counts to two hundred before she gets completely and utterly bored.

Oz has just about fallen asleep when he faintly hears her shout, “Ready or not, here I come!”

He starts to snore.

It’s warm when he wakes up - it’s always warm, never cold, here. Little specks of light seem to be dancing around Alice, Cheshire, Elliot, Alyss as they look for him.

They have their hands cupped around their mouths, shouting his name, “Oz where are you?!”

“Come on, it’s been hours! You better not have fallen asleep, you’ll get sick!” Elliots yells out to him.

Hours? He’d had such a good nap though. He laughs and moves into view, waving at them, “Sorry! I did fall asleep!”

They all turn towards his voice, smiling at him. The speckled lights dancing around them dance more brightly then; he sees them dancing around his own hand as he waves too. It takes him a couple seconds to realise, but they seem to be fading. Him too.

His cousin is the first to disappear, hours before any of them. He’d been gone before Oz even woke up.  A hundred year cycle didn’t last very long but he’d had such a wonderful tea party. His time with them had passed far too quickly. He climbs down the tree and hugs them all at once. The light around them all is almost blindingly bright now.

Elliot and Alyss are still hugging them, they’re together when they disappear, so Oz knows they’ll always be together.

He really did love tea parties… Tea parties with them…

Alice squeezes Oz tightly, the pressure a welcome comfort. He hugs her back hard, until there’s no longer anyone in his arms and all he can see is that warm, white light.

Just as Glen Baskerville had said, the abyss was extraordinarily beautiful. It felt like only days - weeks at most. He’s glad to have made the most of it. He wishes he could have spent more time there, or that everywhere was just as warm and peaceful as the abyss. But they’re all waiting now, Gil too, in a moment he’ll be back to them.

Oz closed his eyes, like he was having the most wonderful dream.

[salora-rainriver]

Gaycoding and You: a Useless Ramble about Milkshakes and 1950s Humor

Ok lemme just start out this Disk Horse by saying that y’all are fuckin fakers. There’s no fuckin way my whole dashboard was secretly hardcore Archies Comics fans who read every motherfuckin issue and have been following the exploits of the Riverdale Crew for years. Shut the fuck up, we all read the comics casually while waiting in line at the grocery store, and now that a dude is confirmed ace, you all basically did the discourse equivalent of pullin’ an all nighter the night before the midterm. 

I’m calling your fucking bluff, you ain’t intimately aware with ANY archies comics characters. Do y’all even know the name of that old lady who’s the teacher who has to deal with Archie n Juggy’s shit? the one who looks like a pencil with a cotton ball slapped on it? Cause I fuckin don’t. For all I know, she’s one of the fuckin Pearls from Stevens Universe, and she took a teaching job in this obnoxiously idyllic suburban neighborhood because she’s a masochist. 

So now that we’ve got that out of the way let’s move on to this alleged “gay coding,” 

Aight so in all the times I’ve read dem Archies Comics, Jughead’s basically been the dude who has 2 things on his mind: burger and nap. That’s it. Sometimes hes thinking of havin a milkshake with that burger. Nice cold 1950s diner style milkshake. His favorite napping spot is a hammock under two trees. It’s probably in his backyard or by the lake in the park and he just has that hammock permanently set up. Maybe he has multiple hammocks permanently set up around Riverdale and no one takes down the Jughead hammocks because that would be rude. In the carefree high school world of Archies Comics, where girls wanna date boys and boys wanna date girls (seriously there’s fuckin PAGES detailing the lighthearted yet completely overdramatic conflicts of archie, reggie, betty, veronica, and their Hetero Drama), Jughead is the quintessential Man Who Doesn’t Give A Single Fuck. As far as we know, he’s not even aware that schoolwork and romance and jobs exist. He literally doesn’t even look once at anything that other people build whole story arcs about. This is his character, this is the comedic trope he fills. He’s the straight man to Archie’s Hetero Bullshit, but he’s also the clown who’s amusingly uninterested in things he should be interested in. like his grades. get it together, Jughead. 

At least, that’s the impression I get from all those years casually readin Archies Comics while my mom loads the veggies on the conveyor belt. Who tf knows, maybe Mr Happy Meal Crown batted his eyelashes at Reggie and blew him a kiss like a big fat flami- aw who am i kidding, the only reason Jughead would bat his eyelashes is during Masochist Pearl’s class cuz he’s bored and wants to sleep. 

Anyways, Jughead’s character out of the way, we need to talk about this weird-ass idea that every single example of a male character refusing to date women is Gay Coding. 

Now I’ve mainly read only the Classical Literature that my middle n highschool teachers gave me to read, and not much else, but BOY HOWDY did I read the SHIT out of those. You’re talking about a girl who cried her ass off at the end of Mary Shelly’s Frankenstein, in a hotel lobby where people were starin at me like I was a weirdo. Point is, I paid more attention to those verbose messes than most ppl my age, cause I’m a nerd. 

And let’s get something straight. Lack of APPARENT attraction to a character of the opposite gender ISN’T gaycoding. And no I’m not saying this because of modern-day conceits like “someone not attracted to the opposite gender could simply not be attracted to ANY gender”, no you wet blanket, listen to me. 

If Mr. Hooke isn’t interested in marrying Ms. Fairweather, there’s three main reasons for that, and you can usually tell which one it is right off the fucking bat: 

- Hooke is Gay as Shit, and in love with his assistant, Sir Appleseed. You can tell because he’s always seen hanging out with Appleseed, and the two of them spend a lot of time together and regularly express affection for each other with words of praise. Also Appleseed’s like a decade younger and he’s very pretty. Very very pretty. A paragraph is written about how Appleseed has a lithe yet muscular body and nice abs. Any modern reader will giggle at how obnoxiously gay this is. People will debate at length on whether the author intended Mr. Hooke to look like such a fuckin flamer. 

- Hooke is straight, but he’s a misogynist intellectual who sees the advances of Ms. Fairweather as a distraction from his Deeply Important Work. Whenever someone mentions Ms. Fairweather or women in general, he speaks at length about how he refuses to give in to their succubus wiles, and how he has a greater purpose. He may also mock Fairweather’s perceived shallow desires. The modern reader soon starts to feel intense hatred for Mr. Hooke, because the dude is so fucking obnoxiously CONCEITED, SHUT THE FUCK UP, but victorian guys probably deeply respected the dude for his chosen celibacy. 

- Hooke is just a weirdass loner introvert. People confusedly ask him why he won’t marry Ms. Fairweather, and he just kinda ignores the question. He doesn’t seem to have a single opinion on the woman’s advances, and seems almost oblivious to them. The intent of the author was, of course, to portray Mr. Hooke as an eccentric man, and also maybe to push the idea that women are a drain on mankind’s intellectual pursuits. Or maybe the author just wanted to show how “weird” Hooke is for not wanting to get married. Either way, the modern reader will start desperately wanting to shake said author by the shoulders and shout “YOU WROTE AN ASEXUAL CHARACTER, YOU NITWIT!!!” 

The point I’m trying to make here is that merely not wanting to date the opposite gender isn’t gaycoding, it’s too fuckin ambiguous for that. Either the character’s gay, or they’re straight and also illustrating weirdass misogynistic cultural standards, or they’re just a fuckin weirdo, in a way that was probably meant to imply neurodivergency, let’s be real, but any modern reader would unanimously agree it’s probably just asexuality, written from the perspective of people who don’t realize that’s a thing that can exist, and it isn’t a weird nameless “fuck marriage” disorder. 

Anyways, 1950s is a bit different. In the context of Post WWII Oldies, specifically comedic comic books set in a suburban high school, if a dude doesn’t want to date, it’s more likely that the authors saw him as someone who was too dumb, ugly, lazy, or nerdy to ever get with a girl, so they made him uninterested in women just because it’s not very funny to see a dude get sad bcs no one will date him. We can feel better if we imagine they’re just uninterested. And That’s Jughead. He’s not coded gay, he’s coded as a nitwit food-obsessed lazeball, and if we’ll be honest, the original writers PROBABLY wrote him with Stoners in mind. 

Jughead’s not running through a literal maze of women to get to his precious delicious milkshake because he’s gay, my dudes. He’s doing it because he spent all morning fuckin Blazing it, and he’s got a fierce case of the munchies, and munchies waits for no girl. He’s got that in common with Norville Rogers, AKA Shaggy from Scooby Doo. WE HAVE SEEN THIS TROPE BEFORE.

Point of the matter is, when the writers made him ace, it’s because they decided maybe Jughead should be more than a cheap stoner joke who’s friends w/ Archie. He’s still a stoner joke, of course, but now he’s a stoner joke that also cleverly doubles as an example of the ace community injoke about cake. You know the one I’m talkin about. 

And that’s all folks.