#*through happy tears* oh how i love a repeated line whose meaning drifts as the story develops

[nostalgia-tblr]

Woooo, I just wrote 200 words of the Sifki Sequel Fic! \o/

[mikauzoran]

Adrienette: Serendipity: Fifty Marichat and Adrienette Kisses: Kiss Two

Serendipity: Fifty Marichat and Adrienette Kisses: ...goodnight.

“That…took a lot longer than expected,” Nino sighed, stretching as he came to a stop at the top of the school steps.

“Projects shouldn’t be allowed to be that long and boring,” Alya groaned, coming up alongside him.

“To be fair,” Adrien added as he held the door open for Marinette, “we shouldn’t have waited until the last minute.”

Alya rolled her eyes. “And whose father’s fault is it that we couldn’t get together to work on this project until the last minute?”

Adrien’s eyes dropped to the pavement. “Sorry.”

“Alya!” Marinette scolded, coming over to smack her best friend’s arm.

Alya deflected the blow, laughing, “Relax, Girl. He knows I’m just kidding.”

“No, he doesn’t,” Marinette protested. “Just look at his face.”

Alya did so and immediately blanched. “Oh, Sunshine. Hey,” she cooed, going over to clap Adrien on the back. “No. I was just kidding. We would have waited until the last minute anyway, even if you had been available earlier. We’re a bunch of procrastinators. I was just kidding. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

“Oh,” Adrien forced a sheepish laugh. “Good. It’s okay. No worries. …I’m just really glad because I know I’m a huge pain to be partnered with for projects because my schedule is so crazy, so—”

“—Mec, no,” Nino jumped in, coming to rest a supportive hand on Adrien’s shoulder. “You’re an awesome partner. You always do all kinds of research ahead of time or just magically happen to know stuff already.”

“You’re a huge asset,” Alya assured.

“We would have been at this until midnight if not for all the work you did on your own before our meeting,” Marinette added with an encouraging smile. “We’re so lucky to have you in our group, Adrien.”

Adrien could feel his cheeks coloring in pleasure as he reached up to rub at the back of his neck. “You think so?”

Marinette nodded enthusiastically. “Mmhm. Definitely. I was really glad when Madame drew your name for our group.”

“Oh,” he chuckled, feeling deliriously happy. “Good. It’s good to be wanted.”

“Oh, trust me,” Alya snickered, clapping him on the back again, “you’re wanted.”

Marinette gave Alya a look that Adrien couldn’t quite decipher, but before he could ask about the exchange or what Alya had meant, Nino cut in.

“How about we go get dinner together to celebrate a successful end to our arduous ordeal?” he suggested.

“I’m pretty sure I can bribe my bodyguard to let me go if I buy him dinner too,” Adrien responded eagerly.

“All right!” Alya cheered, punching the air with her fist. “Sounds like a plan.”

“Actually…” Marinette winced. “I told my parents I’d be home soon. They’re waiting for me to eat.”

Adrien’s face fell. He couldn’t very well fantasize that this was a double date if Marinette wasn’t there.

“Call them and tell them you’re coming out with us,” Alya urged. “Girl, your parents are super chill. They’d completely understand you wanting to spend time with your friends.”

Hope swelled in Adrien’s chest only to be dashed on the rocks as Marinette sadly shook her head.

“No. I really need to get home.” She didn’t know when Chat Noir would be able to sneak out to visit that evening, and she didn’t want to miss him or keep him waiting. “Sorry guys.”

“Maybe next time,” Nino responded, noting the disappointment evident on his best friend’s face.

Marinette nodded, echoing, “Maybe next time. I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

“See ya,” Alya replied as Nino tipped his hat.

“Let me walk you home,” Adrien hurried to offer as Marinette began to turn away.

She blinked thrice in succession. “You don’t have to. It’s just across the street.”

Behind Adrien’s back, Alya mouthed, “what are you doing?!”, completely exasperated at the new and unusual ways Marinette was sabotaging herself.

“I insist,” Adrien countered. “What kind of gentleman would I be if I didn’t properly escort a lady home after dark?” He turned back to Nino and Alya. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow. Have a nice date.”

Marinette frowned. “You’re not going with them?”

“Not without you. Shall we?” Adrien held out his arm for her to take.

Looking stricken, Marinette glanced back and forth between Nino, Alya, and Adrien. “But…you shouldn’t scrap your plans just because I can’t go. Adrien, I know you don’t get to spend time with friends often. You should take advantage of the opportunity.”

He shook his head, smiling disarmingly. “Nah. It wouldn’t be any fun without you. Alya and Nino get all couple-y when you’re not around, and I feel like such a third wheel.” He looked back and their friends. “No offence, guys.”

Alya and Nino shrugged.

“None taken, Mec.”

Adrien held out his arm to Marinette again. “So…shall we?”

Marinette frowned, looping her arm through his. “Okay, but I feel really terrible. I’m sorry, Adrien.”

“Please don’t feel bad,” he entreated, trying to reassure her as he carefully led her down the school steps and towards the bakery. “It’s completely fine. I promise.”

“I’ll make it up to you,” Marinette insisted. “We’ll all go out to eat together sometime soon. In the meantime, I’ll bring pastries to school tomorrow. You like the pain au chocolat best, yes?”

“You know, I was about to say that no making it up to me was required, but I’d be a fool to turn down Tom and Sabine’s,” he chuckled, mouth already salivating at the thought of flakey pastries and bittersweet chocolate. “Pain au chocolat is my favourite, but I will happily inhale anything you bring.”

“I’ll be sure to include at least one pain au chocolat,” she promised, giving his arm a squeeze.

“You’re the best,” he hummed, making Marinette chuckle as she remembered Chat Noir telling her the same thing in the early hours of the morning.

“I am pretty great, aren’t I?” she laughed softly.

“Phenomenal,” he affirmed.

They paused at the crosswalk to wait for the light, and a comfortable silence settled between them as they each drifted off into their own thoughts.

Marinette daydreamed of another blonde boy while Adrien lost himself in fantasies of revealing his identity and having Marinette embrace the truth. Dating Marinette on both sides of the mask, not having to hide or hold back anything from her… Never having to doubt that she loved him for him, for the dorky, insecure guy behind the famous model and not just his money and influence…

By the time they reached the side door to the residence above the bakery, Adrien had mentally created a whole future for them where Marinette knew his identity and loved him anyway complete with first dates and first kisses, anniversaries and engagements, marriage and children.

When they stopped and Marinette turned to thank him for the escort, it seemed so natural to whisper, “Goodnight, Princess” and lean in for a kiss.

His lips had barely brushed her cheek when she jumped back with a squawk.

Adrien blinked, trying to understand why his wife had reacted so drastically to a simple kiss on the cheek…but then it hit him that none of the events filling his head had actually happened yet. He was not currently Chat Noir, and Marinette and Adrien did not exchange cheek kisses of that sort. Calling her “Princess” in that breathy, sensual way and kissing her on the cheek like that as Adrien had been crossing a line.

He backpedaled, holding up his hands in a placating gesture as he tried to do damage control. “I-I’m so sorry! I—”

“—I have a boyfriend!” Marinette squeaked, looking horrified.

Adrien’s mouth dropped open. “…You… What?” His voice sounded tight and strained.

She cleared her throat, arms wrapping around her torso as if to hold herself together. “There-There’s someone else. I’m sorry. I have a boyfriend.”

“Oh?” He tried to swallow, but his mouth was unexpectedly arid. “Oh.”

So he really had misread things between Marinette and Chat Noir. He’d thought she seemed fond of him. They flirted and teased and snuggled and…but he supposed that she’d only seen him as a friend. Marinette wasn’t the type to lie or cheat. If she had a boyfriend, she wouldn’t be fooling around with Chat Noir.

He’d misunderstood. It had all been wishful thinking on his part.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated, not looking at him. “I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression. I mean, I do like you—I did like you, Adrien.”

“Oh?” he got out in a brittle voice.

He noted the aggressive use of past tense and wondered what he’d done to screw that up.

She shook her head and then finally met his gaze. Her eyes were shimmering with unshed tears. “I’m sorry. I’m seeing someone else, and I care about him so, so much. He’s really important to me, so…you and I can only be friends, okay?”

It looked like the words physically pained her.

He nodded, trying to cobble together some semblance of a smile, trying not to look like his world was caving in on him.

He wondered how he was going to get over yet another amazing young woman telling him she didn’t want him. It had been hard enough to let go of his feelings for Ladybug and accept that he was interested in Marinette romantically. How could he possibly get over Marinette? How was he supposed to put himself out there again when being told that he wasn’t what these women wanted had hurt so much the first two times? Maybe he was the problem and there wasn’t anyone out there who could love him as he was.

Adrien kept smiling and nodding. “Of course. Friends.”

He tried to chuckle, to sound light and carefree and fine, but the laugh came out strangled.

Marinette winced. “I’m sorry. I did like you.”

He wished she’d stop saying that like that was supposed to make him feel better. He wished she’d tell him what he’d done wrong to make her stop liking him. Maybe then he could fix it and she’d like him again.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated, unsure of what else to say. He was obviously taking this hard, and she felt horrible. She knew she’d been sending him mixed signals over the years. She hadn’t meant to lead him on, but she obviously had. Adrien wouldn’t have tried to kiss her unless he was certain that she wanted him to. Her leftover feelings for him must have been obvious, but she’d decided recently to commit to Chat Noir, and she couldn’t go back now.

She wished there were something she could do to soften the blow.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, holding back tears.

He shook his head, holding up his hands a little higher. “It’s okay. I understand. My mistake.”

And then there was agonizingly awkward silence.

Marinette thought about apologizing again, but she feared that the words already meant less than nothing to him. She wasn’t even sure that bringing him baked goods in the morning would be appreciated. It was all too clear that she’d hurt him badly. He was trying to hide it, but…

She had to wonder when Adrien had developed feelings for her and why she hadn’t noticed. Perhaps because he was always so sweet to everyone.

“Are you going to be okay?” She looked and spotted his bodyguard Victor parked out front of the bakery watching them. It was a relief knowing that she didn’t have to worry about him getting home safely.

He nodded robotically. “Yeah. I’m…I’m fine. Thanks. Sorry. I just…” He took a step back and motioned vaguely over his shoulder. “I should go now.”

She nodded, shrinking back towards the door. “Okay. Goodnight, Adrien. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Mmhm,” was all he managed as a response.

She quickly unlocked the door and hurried inside, trying to give him as much privacy as possible for a celebrity in the middle of Paris.

He watched her disappear as the door shut behind her, and then he stood there for a moment, trying to keep it together.

Somehow, he ended up across the street at the park, sitting on one of the benches with his head in his hands.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but he was suddenly aware of Plagg’s voice. “—mistake. I’m certain she likes you as Chat Noir. Maybe you’re freaking out over nothing. Maybe she was talking about you—Chat Noir you.”

“…But…” Adrien had to swallow twice to return some moisture to his mouth before he could continue. “Chat Noir isn’t her boyfriend, Plagg,” he mumbled, shaking his head. “She’s never asked me out, and I haven’t asked her either.”

Plagg pursed his lips. “Would you feel better if she’d just made up a boyfriend as an excuse to let Adrien down gently?”

Adrien groaned. “Strangely enough, having someone make up a boyfriend because they don’t want to date me does not make me feel better.”

Plagg sighed, sinking back down into his hiding spot in Adrien’s left shoulder. “Kid, maybe you should call someone. I don’t think you should be shut up alone in your room right now.”

Exhaling slowly, Adrien considered his kwami’s advice. Part of him really did just want to go back home and sob into a pillow, but the logical part of his brain knew that that way lay akumatization.

He took his phone from his pocket and reluctantly dialed Nino.

“What’s up, mon pote?”

“Did everyone but me know that Marinette had a boyfriend?” Adrien couldn’t help the accusing tone that slipped into his voice. “Because it would have been really nice if someone had told me before I tried to kiss her.”

On the other end of the line, Adrien heard Nino curse before pulling the phone away from his ear to whisper-hiss at Alya.

Alya’s “WHAT?!” could be heard loud and clear along with her detailed plans to tie Marinette down and interrogate her.

Then Nino was back. “Apparently this is news to everyone. You okay, Mec?”

“No,” Adrien answered frankly, too tired to put on a brave, socially acceptable face. “I need to be put on akuma watch. Is it too late to crash your date with Alya?”

“Dude, stay where you are. We’ll be there to get you in five.”

Adrien could tell from the edge in Nino’s voice that Adrien was in for an evening of crushing hugs and noogies. Nino was a fiercely protective older brother, and it was always nice when he extended that intensity to include Adrien.

Adrien closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on happy thoughts and the sound of Plagg purring until Nino got there.

[the-quiet-winds]

You’ve Got a Pocket Full of Reasons Why You’re Here Tonight

happy mother’s day! here’s the mother’s day oneshot @ichlugebulletsandcornnuts and i wrote ages ago! it has one of my favorite endings that we’ve done. it makes me happy.

the concept of ‘mother’s day’ was a new one; it hadn’t existed when the queens were alive, even for those of them who had children and lived long enough to actually see them grow. as it approached, however, katherine realises that she wants to celebrate the day, to celebrate jane, and she wants to make their first Mother’s Day the best one possible.

so, katherine starts thinking. she thinks and thinks, trying hard to come up with an idea that would be good enough for jane, so she realises how much katherine loves and appreciates her.

she comes up with many small ideas: gifts, an outing, everything like that, but nothing seems to be quite enough to accomplish her goal, especially when she thinks back to her first birthday living with jane, all of the fun things they did that day.

nothing just seems to be good enough. in the final days leading up to the holiday, katherine is in an extremely glum mood.

jane of course picks up on this, because she’s perceptive and caring and the best mum ever, and she asks katherine if she’s okay. katherine doesn’t want to ruin the surprise, however, and pretends that it’s just exhaustion from rehearsals and performances.

two nights before Mother’s Day, at about 11pm, katherine sits on her bedroom floor looking through her journal and the photos on her phone, trying to get any kind of inspiration from her and jane’s past memories that would be good enough for someone as amazing as jane.

she thinks a lot about books and songs, mainly. those seem to be their thing, katherine notices. lots of the anecdotes in her journal pertain to literature they enjoyed, together or separate, and songs they shared or sent each other.

katherine shoots upright as she grabs her computer and puts a search into the engine: “karaoke near london.”

there’s a lot of results, so katherine skips past the ones in club venues or huge buildings. finally she finds a small karaoke bar, one that prided itself on its “friendly, fun atmosphere”, perfect for those who didn’t want a big audience watching them at karaoke. katherine knows neither of them have a problem with singing in front of an audience; they do it almost every day. however, a friendlier, less chaotic atmosphere would still be appreciated.

it’s fairly close by, and opens at noon on sunday, so katherine figures there’s no better place to spend part of their day than singing with each other.

so that’s how, at around two on sunday afternoon, jane finds herself seated anxiously in the passenger seat of their car, next to katherine, who refuses to even hint at where they’re going, or why they’re going out.

apparently, jane had no idea at the significance of the day at all.

katherine feels a slight anxiety twist in her stomach as they get closer to it, and she drums her fingertips against the steering wheel. there was a biting doubt in the back of her mind that jane wouldn’t want her to make a fuss out of mother’s day, the same voice that kept her up with fears of jane secretly not wanting to be her mother, or that katherine was somehow trying to replace the memory of edward and would offend jane. she does her best to push those fears down as she backs into one of the parking spaces outside after a slightly dodgy three point turn (that was closer to four and a half points, if she was being honest). jane looks around, slightly confused.

“where are we, love?”

katherine twists her hands over the steering wheel. “a karaoke bar,” she admits nervously.

jane takes a moment to process this before smiling brightly. “that sounds wonderful, love, but what’s the occasion?”

katherine looks at her bashfully, blush rising in her cheeks and ears. “happy mother’s day, mum.”

“mother’s day...?” jane repeats, and katherine briefly panics that she’d done something wrong, but then jane’s face breaks out into a wide smile, tears pricking in the corners of her eyes. “oh, kitty-kat!”

she reaches across to the driver’s seat as best she can to pull katherine into a tight hug.

katherine’s worry lessens slightly at jane’s reaction; she relaxes a bit into the hugs, the familiar smell of jane’s vanilla soap soothing her anxiety. she lets jane hold her for just a moment before pulling away. “let’s go in, then,” she says unsurely.

jane nods once, grinning. “let’s.”

they climb out of the car and make their way over to the karaoke bar. inside there’s only a few patrons, but a woman is gamely singing along to an ABBA track by the karaoke machine. behind the bar is a chalkboard offering a selection of speciality drinks as well as an (albeit fairly simple) food menu. jane glances around as they walk through the door.

“well, this is a lovely little place,” she says with a smile.

katherine grins shyly, ears still a bit pink. “i thought we could get some food and then sing.” she realizes what she said and jumps over herself to amend her statement. “but only if you want to! it’s your day so don’t feel pressured to-“

“kitty-kat,” jane cuts in. “of course i want to. this will be great fun and i’d love to spend it with you.”

after ordering some food at the bar they sit down in one of the small booths to wait. on the table in front of them is what appears to be a menu, but on a closer look turns out to be a list of songs available from the karaoke machine. there was a wide variety, from pop to rap to country to Disney, even to some very strange obscure tracks that most people had long forgotten.

“look mum, they have our song,” katherine grins, pointing it out on the list.

jane laughs lightly before they continue flipping. a song catches each of their eyes, both for the same reason, a song to the other.

the one katherine sees she has heard once or twice but remembers the vague message of: feeling like you don’t deserve the person whose stood by you always.

katherine doesn’t wait before jumping up and making her way to the stage. “this...uh,” she swallows. “this is for my mum.”

the song starts, slow and swingy, and she starts to timidly sing. “something ‘bout the way that you walk into my living room, casually and confident, looking at the mess i am but still you,” she makes eye contact with jane across the room, “still you want me.”

jane watches as katherine finds her voice a little more, getting gradually more confident as she starts the next lines. her voice cracks just the tiniest bit at the start of the chorus, and the words ring in jane’s ears.

“oh, i always let you down, shattered on the ground, but still I find you there, next to me.”

the emotion is thick in her voice and jane can’t help but tear up slightly.

“and all the stupid things i do,” katherine sings, voice heavy with long standing insecurities, fears, and pain. “still i find you there, next to me.”

she can see the tears in jane’s eyes even from the stage, but there’s a love in her features that nearly startles katherine.

“there’s something about the way that you always see the pretty view, overlook the mud and mess, always looking effortless, and still you...” she chokes down the emotion in her throat. “still you want me.”

by the time she reaches the end of the next chorus katherine can’t stop the tears from springing in the corner of her eyes as the emotion pours out through her voice.

“so thank you for taking a chance on me,” she sings, voice shaking slightly. she looks directly into jane’s eyes, trying her best to convey the love she feels. “i know it isn’t easy, but i hope to be worth it.”

jane knows that katherine believes every word she sings, and she just wants to wrap katherine up safe in her arms and assure her that she is worth it, that katherine’s love is worth the world to jane.

“and i will always let you down,” she sings once more, voice powerful as much as it was tender, “shattered on the ground, still i find you there, next to me.” she takes a shaky breath and continues on. “and all the stupid things i do,” running away, pushing you away, she thinks.

“i’m far from good it’s true.” images of panic attacks and fights and words she didn’t mean flash in front of her eyes.

“still i find you next to me.”

the audience screams their applause but katherine hears none of it, white noise echoing in her ears as she crosses back to the tiny table where the song’s recipient was waiting, tears running down her face.

jane doesn’t say anything, simply pulling katherine into her arms straight away and holding her close. katherine clings back, feeling slightly small and pitiful but also full of love and gratitude for her mum. jane kisses her cheek, a hand softly running through her hair.

she wants to tell katherine that she could never let jane down, that she was the best thing in jane’s life, and she will tell her all those things, every day for the rest of their lives together. for now, however, she settles on, “i love you, kitty-kat. mum loves you.”

katherine smiles at those words, nuzzling her face into jane’s shoulder. she lets jane hold her, stroke her hair and trace designs across her spine, as a few more people get up to sing.

jane, however, is remembering the song she wanted to sing, one that katherine had heard once long ago, and she gently extracts herself from katherine’s hold. the girl releases a noise of opposition, so jane simply gives her a smile and a wink as she makes her way to the stage.

“i think you all remember my daughter, she was up her a little bit ago, so this is my song for her.”

the piano starts and jane falls into the beginning chorus. “i remember all of the things that i thought i wanted to be...”

as jane sings, katherine suddenly realises she’s heard this song before. jane had sung it as a lullaby, she was sure of it, had memories of drifting off to sleep at the sound of jane’s soothing voice, although she hadn’t paid too much attention to the lyrics at the time. now, though, the words resonate through her, and as jane reaches the chorus it’s like she’s singing only to Katherine, and that the rest of the room had disappeared.

“when the pain cuts you deep, when the night keeps you from sleeping, just look and you will see that I will be your remedy.”

katherine immediately remembers the song: she had been laying on the dressing room couch, on video chat with jane who was lost in turkey, wishing for nothing more than for jane to be in the same room.

now they are in the same room, and katherine is enraptured.

“when the world seems so cruel, when your heart makes you feel like a fool, i promise you will see that i will be your remedy,” jane sings. katherine is always struck by jane’s voice every time she hears it, but something about this moment, the combination of the emotion and the words and the pure love in every note makes katherine want to run onstage and tackle jane in the biggest bear hug imaginable.

she holds back, though, partly because she’d look pretty weird just running onstage like that, but partly because she wants to hear jane sing the song to the end. the way jane’s voice makes her feel in that moment, she never wants the song to finish.

“your love, it is my truth,” jane sings, fixing katherine with the most loving, caring gaze she’d ever witnessed in her life. “and i will always love you.”

katherine’s heart swells with those words. she can just feel the love practically radiating from jane, and it feels like a warm blanket, a hand running gently through her hair, and smells faintly of vanilla.

after jane sings the chorus again, a piano takes over the instrumental and jane gently sways in place to the music. she sees katherine sitting at the table, nervous energy burning off through her hands as she sits, mesmerized by jane’s performance.

jane smiles and extends a hand to her, inviting her to come up on stage.

katherine stands almost instantly, walking up to the stage and taking jane’s hand. jane gently tugs her closer, wrapping her arm around her as she keeps swaying, the instrumental coming to an end. as jane starts singing again she looks directly at katherine, who smiles slightly shyly. every word jane sings seems like a promise to katherine, a vow that she’ll be there for her, no matter what.

by the time jane finishes the song, both of them had forgotten there was an audience. the crowd, however small, all were in tears by the time jane and katherine left the stage and returned to the small table in the back.

one woman, somewhere around her forties, walks up to them. "you both sang so well," she comments with misty eyes. she then looks at katherine, an odd and melancholy look on her face. she opens her mouth to speak, but turns back to jane. "i wish i had a daughter like yours, miss," she says tightly. "especially on a day like today."

jane’s heart aches for the woman, and she wants to be able to do something for her. after a quick glance at katherine, who seems to be thinking a similar thing, she offers the woman a smile.

“would you like to sit with us for a while?”

the woman gives her a gentle smile. “that’s very kind of you both, but i don’t want to interrupt your day. i just wanted to tell you how lovely it is to see a mother and daughter who care so much about each other.” she smiles at katherine too before she goes back to her own table.

katherine blushes at the complement, even as the woman walks away, and jane can't help but smile. she reaches over and takes katherine's hand, squeezing it lightly.

"i couldn't ask for a better daughter," jane says, as if the woman was still listening.

"and i couldn't ask for a better mum," katherine counters. only a few moments later, she checks the time and stands up. "we need to go. there's more stuff for us to do today."

she pays the tab (jane insists she doesn't but katherine doesn't listen) and pulls jane out to the car.

there isn't much conversation as they drive down a ways and pull into a small parking lot of a very historical looking building. jane looks at katherine inquisitively, to which the girl responds with a twinkle in her eye as they enter the establishment.

the walls were entirely books, from floor to ceiling. just lots and lots of books.

as jane looks around in wonder an older woman approaches them, hands clasped in front of her.

“good afternoon, ladies,” she says kindly. “is there anything specific you’re looking for today, or would you just like to browse?”

“just browsing,” katherine chirps cheerfully as jane is too busy staring in awe at the huge collection of books. the woman gives a nod and a smile.

“well, if you need me for anything, i’ll be at my desk. feel free to move the ladders around if you need to use them.”

katherine thanks her and turns back to jane, who is still staring, somewhat gawpishly, at the collections. katherine laughs and takes both of her mum's hands and pulls her further into the library.

they look for everything they could want to read: jane pulls the bronte sisters, some shakespeare, dickens, and even, tucked way below all the other volumes in her hands, a book about teenage psychology.

katherine follows her around like an adorable puppy, pointing out things they're both looking for and helping to carry some of the many books that jane pulls off the shelf.

they find a cozy corner, a large couch set in front of a roaring fire. jane sits down and katherine immediately curls up beside her, and jane, for whatever reason, stiffens.

katherine lifts her head, looking at jane curiously. “is something the matter, mum?”

jane takes a moment before shaking her head softly, giving katherine a tiny smile. “everything’s fine, kat.” she smooths down katherine’s hair. “there doesn’t seem to be anyone else around for me to annoy by doing it, so would you like me to read to you, love?”

“if that’s something you want to do,” katherine says slightly bashfully. “it’s your day, after all.”

jane smiles gently down at the girl tucked under her arm. "of course i would, love."

she pulls out one of the books in her pile, one of the dickens books, and begins to read.

katherine closes her eyes and lets jane's soothing voice lead her imagination through the words, but then the soothingness fades. jane's voice chops and lilts in awkward directions, she stumbles over the oddest of words. katherine sits up.

"mum, are you sure you're alright? you seem...distracted."

jane's mind jumps to the book at the bottom of the pile, the one about teens and trauma and she shakes her head. "nothing at all, love."

“if you wanted to go somewhere else we could-” katherine starts hesitantly, but jane shakes her head.

“no, kat. i love it here, I promise.”

katherine looks at her carefully, studying her face. she can tell something is on jane’s mind but she can’t quite tell what, and she sighs.

“i’m just gonna pop to the loo,” she says, standing up. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

jane nods and watches her leave, a pang of guilt in her chest. she desperately doesn’t want katherine to think she doesn’t love all of the effort she put into today, not at all.

she had flicked open that book, and that was the problem. she had seen something about how children with traumatic childhoods sometimes have trouble forming close bonds later in life, generally becoming antisocial, loner types.

it makes her heart swell to see katherine not falling into that category. but she’d be lying if she said she didn’t fear that one day katherine would turn around and not want jane anymore.

the thought of that, especially on such a holiday, was just too much to bear.

jane desperately hopes that her sweet, bubbly, vivacious kat, so full of love and light, will keep wanting her and that they’ll have plenty more mother’s days in future, but the insidious gnawing anxiety in her stomach persists until she feels slightly sick. maybe, she thinks, the book could at least offer her some reassurances, or some ways to better help katherine, and so she flips open the psychology book with a sigh.

jane doesn’t know if what she is reading is entirely factual, considering the age of the book but she reads it anyway. “when children or young adults experience trauma,” the book reads, “it can be responsible for behavioral patterns that can result in combative and troubling episodes. for some, it is proven that physical trauma - harm, fear-invoking situations - lead to isolation and recluse behavior. emotional trauma, such as abandonment or emotional abuse, cause mistrust in others, paranoia, and emotional unrest. combinations of both, however, have been known to lead to antisocial tendencies and inability to form close relationships. even if they do form those relationships, the affected individual will likely harbor feelings of paranoia and mistrust, as if their acquaintance may at any time turn on them and/or abandon them.”

jane frowns at the words. they were slightly too close to comfort with some of the... incidents that had happened in the past, and she hates the idea of katherine being afraid that jane will leave. she wants katherine to feel safe and loved for the rest of her life. a memory of earlier that day, the lyrics katherine had sung to her clearly believing that she was a burden or a challenge for jane, comes to her mind and jane wonders if katherine will ever know how much she brightens jane’s life.

she spots katherine making her way back and she shuts the book quickly, hiding it underneath a copy of Great Expectations. the last thing she’d want is for katherine to see it and get the wrong idea.

katherine sees jane shuffle the books around and frowns. convinced she’s just being paranoid, she crosses back to jane and sits down next to her, maintaining some space between them.

“maybe, um, we should move on from here,” katherine says quietly, eyes fixed on her lap. her fingers drum across her thighs anxiety and restlessness burning through her hands. “but it’s your day!” she amends quickly, then lowers her voice again. “whatever you want.”

jane smiles softly. “let’s head home, yeah?”

they begin to collect the books, and jane isn’t quick enough to pick up the stack where the psych book is, and, sure enough, katherine reshelves Great Expectations and immediately sees Psychology for Dummies - Children and Young Adults.

katherine can’t help but sour slightly. “a little light reading, huh?”

jane doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know if discussing it or dismissing it would be worse. katherine seems to take jane’s silence as some kind of sign and she reshelves the book aggressively, the cover making a solid thud as it comes into contact with the back of the shelf. inside, katherine’s berating herself for acting like a child about this; of course jane would want to read a psychology book to try and work out how to make katherine less of a mess. nobody should have to put up with katherine, let alone someone as amazing as jane, not with katherine’s panic attacks and nightmares and lashing out when she feels insecure- like now. she was ruining jane’s special day and it was all her fault. jane deserved better than her.

jane sits there, watching katherine reshelf the book with a bit too much force.

she hopes that katherine knows that the book was only a result of curiosity, of jane’s wish to be the best mum possible for katherine, even if that means putting in extra work to learn how.

katherine does her best to mask her rising fears and insecurities, but she doesn’t do great at that. she’s so caught up in her own feelings she doesn’t notice, as she descends the ladder, that there is one more wrung that she subsequently misses, sending her tumbling back...

...and straight into jane’s arms.

jane catches her instinctively as katherine lets out a startled cry, then a hiss of pain as her ankle twists awkwardly when she lands.

“love, are you okay?” jane asks, worry clear in her voice. katherine opens her mouth to reply but her face creases with pain as she puts pressure on her ankle.

“lets get you sat down, sweetheart,” jane says gently, helping katherine over to the couch.

katherine wants to protest, insist she is fine, that they should just head on; she doesn’t want to make jane’s special day any worse than it already is.

but then she puts weight on her ankle as they go down one step and nearly cries out again, and would have if she hadn’t bit her lip enough to make it bleed slightly.

now she knows she’s messed it all up - she’s got a gimpy ankle, blood on her lips, and is just so upset and anxious that she just wants to curl up in a hole and never leave.

jane fusses about katherine, crouching down to look at her ankle. “does it hurt when you’re not putting pressure on it, kat?” she asks, slightly pushing up the ends of katherine’s jeans to get a better view. katherine shakes her head.

“not really,” she says weakly, but her gritted teeth say otherwise. she blinks back the tears that spring in her eyes, partly from the pain but mostly from annoyance at herself. jane looks up when katherine sniffles and her face immediately turns concerned.

“oh, sweetheart, does it hurt that much? do you want me to take you to the hospital?”

“no!” katherine blurts out. she continues slightly quieter. “it’s not that.”

jane presses her lips together. she knows it’s because katherine saw the book, that’s what it must have been.

“katherine...” she swallows. “kitty-kat, about what you saw-“

“it doesn’t matter,” katherine all but hisses. “it’s fine.”

jane frowns at this. “if it’s upsetting you love, it’s not what you think.”

“i’m not upset,” katherine says, obviously not so. “my ankle hurts, that’s all.”

jane swallows hard again. “kat-“

“you don’t need to explain yourself,” katherine cuts in, the pain in her heart far worse than the dull throb in her ankle. “i’d be curious too.” she barks a quiet, sharp laugh. “how one person could be so messed up.”

jane can only stare for a few moments, a near-horrified expression on her face. “no, love, no,” she says, voice hushed with concern. “that’s not it at all, i promise you.” she sits down next to katherine. “i just wanted... to see if there was anything i could do more, any way i could be a better mum. i just want you to be happy, kitty-kat,” she finishes quietly.

katherine shudders. “you’re already so perfect.”

jane’s heart lifts at those words, glad to hear that the book’s prediction may, in fact, be wrong, and katherine may not fall into that isolationary pool and push jane away.

or she did think that, she truly did, until katherine spoke again.

her voice is quiet, thick with emotion. “why would someone as perfect as you want something like me?”

“because i love you, kat,” jane says, voice honest and soft. “and i think you’re so bright and sweet and sassy and, most of all, kitty-kat? i think you’re perfect. you make my life so much better every day - you even organised this whole day for me!” she takes katherine’s hands in her own. “i couldn’t ask for a better daughter.”

katherine’s facade crumbles, the pain in her ankle forgotten as she folds into jane’s embrace. she feels the familiar soothing sensation of jane’s fingers running through her hair, then the gentle kiss she presses to the top of her head.

“i couldn’t ask for a better mum,” she whispers.

jane holds her for a long while, until the fire in the fireplace is nothing more than smoldering ashes and the reluctant librarian is forced to ask them to leave.

by then, the sharp pain in katherine’s ankle felt like nothing more than a dull throb, and jane leads her to the car without much trouble.

jane decides to drive and katherine can’t argue - she doesn’t feel capable.

they are about halfway home when the car makes a few bucking noises and crawls to a stop in the shoulder.

katherine’s head drops into her hands. “i forgot to fill the tank,” she groans out.

“don’t worry, love,” jane gives her a gentle smile. “i’ll call the car people and get it sorted. there’s no harm done, love, honest.”

the ‘car people’, as jane had called them, inform jane they’ll be there within fifteen minutes and the two of them get out of the car to wait. katherine has to lean on jane and she hides her face slightly in her shoulder.

“sorry, mum,” she mumbles, but jane shakes her head.

“like i said, kat, no harm done.”

“i ruined your day,” she complains, forcing her nose deeper into jane’s shoulder. “this was supposed to be perfect for you.”

“you ruined nothing, love, it was a great day,” jane assures, kissing her forehead. “i got to spend it all with you.”

katherine makes a noise at this, and jane understands now what this noise means. “and i wouldn’t want my day to be any other way, love.”

jane feels katherine smiling against her shoulder and she wraps her arms around her, tracing gentle intricate patterns between katherine’s shoulder blades. she kisses katherine’s temple again as the two wait in a comfortable silence, before katherine speaks quietly.

“happy mother’s day, mum.”

---

songs are ‘next to me’ by imagine dragons and ‘remedy’ by adele

[thecupcakeconsumer]

Playing Ball pt. 2 - Fielding and Shielding

A/N: This series is getting i n s a n e and you'll never guess what I was up last night at midnight talking about? More ideas for this! So guess what there's more to come. 

Part One | Part Two (You are here!) | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five

Navigation: Masterlist is here.

Taglist: @imaginesbyemma, @writers-block0o0

Summary: After you win your first game of the season, you learn there was someone in the audience you weren't expecting. Chaos ensues.

Warnings: A couple of sexual references, language, and punssss. The reader also considers the prospect of sex in this, I even used the word. Dick jokes.

Word Count: 3,027

Other Notes: Female reader, as per usual, and this is post-Spike. Reader is in senior year, about a month after pt. 1.

Softball was a great stress reliever, you would give it that.

And being forced to do the extra curricular on top of your workload had forced you to manage your time better, something that (though not your favorite thing in the world) had helped a lot when it came to your assignments.

However, that was all practice.

This? Your first actual game of the season?

More stressful than anything.

Pacing back and forth, you struggled to keep yourself in check and not allow the anxiety to overwhelm you, the line you walked slowly wearing a path in the grass.

“Loosen up, Y/N,” advised Sarah, her character bubble gum still being chewed as the first pitch became ever nearer. “You can't go in your first time dry.”

“What?”

“All I'm saying is, relax and you'll enjoy it. It's not all about winning, God knows we ain't won in ages. Good news is, our pitcher hasn't been suspended yet for the mysteriously recurring spitballs that nobody ever finds 'er doing.”

You tilted your head to the side a moment while attempting to comprehend what she had just said. “Spitballs?”

“Listen, dovey. You didn't hear it here, but there's sabotage that goes on with this team.” Pausing, her gum popped dramatically and she didn't even blink. “Watch your back. You're on outfield today. Whatever you do, don't throw for short stop.”

She looked up as a whistle blew loudly. “Time to go.”

Even more uncomfortable than you had been before, you reluctantly followed her to the huddle.

“It's our first game of the season, eighth inning, and our Griffins are down three to six, not that anyone is surprised at this point,” narrated Sarah sarcastically from behind you as the pitcher nervously experimented with the ball. “Ready to bat, Claybourne?”

“As I'll ever be,” you answered nervously.

“Remember. We got a lady on second and one on third. Heads up.”

She signalled the pitcher, whose pitch landed right where you needed it – you hit, and quickly dropped the bat and started running.

Without fully comprehending, you managed to just barely slide onto third base, your two runners safe.

Sarah flashed you a thumbs up from where she was crouched behind the next batter.

5-6.

You could do this.

The next girl – number 48, whose name you couldn't quite remember – stepped up, rotating the bat over her shoulder confidently, before hitting it low, giving you just enough time to run home as she stepped onto first base.

“That's what I'm talking about!” Sarah clapped. “Tied. One inning left. Let's see if we can win this shindig.”

You frowned at her sudden turn around from the earlier pessimism. “But I thought you said-”

“Shhhh. Don't sour this rare moment.”

Taking a seat on the bench, your eyes searched out a familiar face in the crowd, landing on Hi.

When he realized you had seen him, your boyfriend held up a hand and waved eagerly, the other offering a thumbs-up.

Idiot. You'd told him not to come – that it was only your first game of the season, that you probably wouldn't even be playing that much, and that there was a good chance that you would lose – but you should have known he'd come anyway.

Smiling even as the next batter struck out and the inning ended, you set out with a new sense of hope.

You wouldn't let Hi down.

“Aaaaand she's in!” Number 30, whose last name you were about certain was Young, barely managed to get the last point you needed, finishing up the game during the bottom of the ninth at 7-6. “And there we have it! Our fabulous Griffins pull out victorious! It's all Claybourne's fault!”

You blushed at Sarah's praise. “No it's not.”

“Fine. Half of our points are Claybourne's fault!” She ruffled your hair, easily falling into step with you as the team made for the change rooms. “Not bad out there, especially not for your first game. Your running? God speed. Not to mention that fly ball you managed to catch to get Dearborn out on what otherwise would've been a home run. Amazing, even if now she'll bitch about it on Friday.”

“Friday?” you repeated.

“Yep. She doesn't know it yet, but we're going out again. Two months running.” She grinned, before casting you a stern look. “I may like you so far but I will shove that bat so far down your throat if you have a problem.”

“No, no, I'm good with it.”

“There's my pro!” exclaimed Hi, hugging you tightly as you walked out of the change room.

“Even athletes need to breathe.”

“Right, sorry.” He released you with a wide smile. “I don't know too much about softball but based on Wikipedia and my rich history in childhood Wii Sports I'd say your triple saved the game.”

You rolled your eyes. “I told you not to come.”

“Since when do I listen? No regrets. You were awesome out there. You got a ride home?”

“Yeah, Chance will be waiting.”

“Ahh, wouldn't want to keep him waiting. I'll text you. Love you!” He kissed your cheek with a loud, wet smack before jogging off as you repeated the last words back to him.

You walked slowly back to where you Chance had said he'd wait for you in the parking lot.

Curiously enough, he was nowhere to be found when you arrived – only a tall girl leaning against one of the columns, texting.

“Well, I've no clue where you got it from, but you're pretty damn good, kiddo.”

It took you a moment to place the voice.

“Mom.”

The same woman who'd raised you, sent you out to Charleston to stay with your father when she started going through college, and you hadn't seen since.

The same woman who'd had you young because of a drunken one night stand but still raised you, working several jobs and never accepting the help that Hollis Claybourne had offered until you insisted that you wouldn't think any less of her if she finally got her college education and had you stay with your half-brother and father.

The same woman you hadn't seen in almost four years.

Here.

You ran into her arms, feeling yourself begin to tear up. “How did you-?”

“You're so tall. Is that makeup I see? Honey, you've changed so much.”

“You're still taller than me,” you retorted, crossing your arms for just a moment before throwing them around her again. “Why didn't you tell me you were coming out here? I would've, I dunno, made plans?”

“Oh, come on. I wasn't about to miss my favorite daughter's first softball game.”

“I'm your only daughter.”

She pulled you tighter into her chest. “And thank Jesus for that. What's new, honey? We haven't talked in so long. How's the infamous boyfriend? That still going on? Any hormonal changes?” You felt her chest rise in a small gasp. “You hadn't even had your period yet when I sent you out here. Oh, no, you had your first period with nobody but your father and your brother, you poor thing-”

“Mom.”

“Right, right.” Your mom pulled back, holding you at arm's length and looking you over. “I've got my car, I'm driving you home. Don't worry, Chance knows, it's not like I'm abducting you or anything. We'll spend so much time together you'll grow sick of me.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Please. As if that's going to happen.”

Holding up a list you had just printed, you carefully stuck wink-eyed stickers onto the calendar in the hallway just outside the kitchen.

“What are you doing?”

Without turning, you answered, “Softball practice schedule for the month of April.”

“Seems busy. What do all the other stickers mean?”

You took a step back. “Let's see. We have the little ones with the crossed out eyes and tongue out – the dead ones – for nights on which Chance is supposed to cook. The heart eyed faces are for date nights, happy faces for study sessions.”

“Happy faces?”

“I only have so many emoji stickers!” you huffed in mock exasperation.

“So, you already have dates planned. When do I get to meet this boyfriend of yours?”

You stopped, almost dropping the sticker roll. “You... want to meet him?”

“Honey, how long have you been dating? Since, what, sophomore year? It's been two years and I have no clue what your boyfriend even looks like. Invite him to dinner. Chance knows him, why don't I get to?”

You nodded slowly. “I mean. I guess I have met his parents.” And that was... interesting.

But it would be different if it was with your mother.

Namely because they both love me and they both seem inclined to embarrass me no matter the circumstances.

“I'll cook,” she offered.

“Okay. Fine.”

Grinning, your mom hugged you tight. “Love you, honey. He's Jewish, right?”

“How do you know?”

“I know these things.”

She drifted past, plucking the sticker roll from your hand despite your protests. “What're you doing?”

“Me? I'm taking these away until you, young missy, call up that Hi of yours and invite him to dinner Thursday night.”

“Thursday? That's tomorrow.”

“Want these stickers back?”

You sighed, grabbing your phone off the counter and flipping through your contacts, hesitating over Hi's contact name.

“Don't you dare try and get out of this by calling someone else. Don't make me look over your shoulder.”

Laughing, you finally dialled the number, feeling your heart race as you heard the ringing. “Put it on speaker,” your mother asked, and you raised an eyebrow.

“Do I have to?”

“I don't ask so much, now, do I?” You relented, wincing as Hi's voice came on the phone.

“What's up, daddy?”

“Hi!” Cheeks flushing red, you hissed, “You're on speaker!”

“So? Chance won't kinkshame me.”

“Hi, my mother's in the room.”

The line went silent for a moment.

Then, “I'm sorry, I must have heard you wrong. You mean to say your brother is in the room, right?”

“No, Hi. My mother.”

“Since when is your mother in town?”

“Since yesterday.”

“Cool! Hi Y/N's mom! I'm sure you're a lovely person with a bad taste in men!”

Alarmed, you glanced up to see your mom laughing. “I mean, he's not wrong. Go on, ask him.”

“Hi, do you wanna come to dinner tomorrow?”

“Dinner? You know the way to my heart, babe. And the artist who created my masterpiece will be there?”

Rolling your eyes, you answered, “Yes, my mom will be there. She wants to meet you.”

“Oh.”

You frowned, leaning your head to the side. “You still there, Hi?”

“Yeah, still here, still here. Always here. Always watching, always waiting. You know, we haven't gone to the park in a while. Wanna walk with me tomorrow?”

“Sure,” you answered.

“Great. I'll see you then. Love, you babe!”

“Love you,” you responded almost instinctively, confused. “Wait, are you going to-?”

The call ended.

“Ooooooh, trouble in paradise?”

Taking the sticker roll back, you didn't answer, confused.

What's up with him?

“Hey, babe, how's it going?” asked Hi, kissing you on the cheek as he met with you at your locker.

“Good,” you answered, grabbing your bag and stuffing your textbooks in. “How about you?”

“To be quite honest, I'm rather scared.”

You whipped around so fast that your bag swung and nearly hit him in the face. “You? Scared? And admitting it? What's wrong? Are you okay? Are you running a fever? Where was our first date?”

He laughed. “I'm fine, on our first date you broke up with me, and I'm nervous, really.”

“About what? Something happen?”

“About meeting your mother.”

You surveyed him for a moment. “You're serious.”

“Actually, I'm Hi.”

“You're nervous about meeting my mom.” You almost laughed at the thought. “Why?”

“Why?” Holding open the door to the school, your boyfriend cast you a bewildered look. “Because the girl whom I love and have been dating for over two years just invited me to dinner with the woman who raised her, who I know essentially nothing about.”

“What, and you think meeting your mother wasn't worse?”

“You'd met her before, though!”

“Yeah, once or twice,” you scoffed, glancing around as you crossed the parking lot. “She's really a lot to get used to. My mom, on the other hand, will do whatever it takes to embarrass me. The two of you will get along just fine. She already loves you.”

Hi shook his head. “Okay, look, Y/N, consider it this way. This-” he held his hands about a foot apart “-represents the spectrum of awesome. Let's say this is 1-” he waved his right hand “-and this is 10. Now, Chance lies about here. I'm not giving negative numbers out, but if I was, he'd have earned one. Ben's probably around the middle, Tory a little higher. I give Shelton a solid seven. Coop's probably an eight.”

“Wow. Coop ranks higher than your closest friends. He must be a good boy.”

“He is definitely a good boy.” Hi nodded, before shaking himself to refocus. “Anyway, you sit at a solid ten, only because there's no higher number. Now, I'm probably about a nine. Your mom? Raised you up to a ten, therefore she must also be a ten. Do you see where I'm going with this?”

“No, not at all. Unless you're saying my mom is too awesome for you.”

“That's exactly what I'm saying!” exclaimed Hi, almost walking into a stop sign. “She intimidates me. I made a joke about her taste in men. She's gonna hate me.”

“Hi, my dad was a one night stand. She laughed at your joke, and she's gonna love you, okay? You two have a... similar sense of humor. Do it? For me?”

He grinned reluctantly. “Anything for you, Y/N.”

“Y/N, honey, what took you so long?”

“It's the same walk home as always, mom,” you answered with a laugh. “Mom. This is Hiram Stolowitski.”

“Hi,” he interjected, sticking out a hand. “I go by Hi, that is. And the greeting too, I guess. Hi, Y/N's mom.”

She smiled. “I've heard a lot about you. I'd say 'come in' but you're already inside and this isn't even my house. Y/N, take over the pasta, stir occasionally. I'm going to talk to your first crush-”

“Mom, shut up!” you interrupted, flushing red as she continued to talk.

Let's hope she doesn't irreversibly ruin me in his eyes.

“Your mom is so tall,” commented Hi, the three of you sat around a table that you hadn't even known existed.

Apparently, your mother knew this house pretty well, even if its owner was only a one night stand.

“And you're so short... do you get it from your dad's side? Did he have a short-”

“Hi! You're in front of my mother!” you hissed, feeling your face heat up.

She only laughed, which made the situation worse. “I won't say, but he sure didn't know how to use-”

“Mom,” you whispered, putting your head in your hands. “My ears are bleeding.”

Your mother leaned over to stage-whisper to Hi. “It's no wonder the condom broke.”

Covering your eyes, between the gaps of your fingers you saw him look to you. “Ah, well, happy accident.”

“You two combined,” you murmured, “are less mature than I am.”

“Oh, honey, if I'm even remotely insane it's your fault,” argued your mother, ruffling your hair.

Hi snickered behind his hand as you groaned.

“I can't believe you were worried about this, Hi. I'm obviously the only one who's being embarrassed here.”

He shook his head. “Nah, you take after her.”

“Oh no. Such an insult, I am wounded in my heart.”

“You don't have one,” quipped your mom.

“Nah, you really do,” insisted Hi. “You're both super nice.”

You didn't have to look at your mom to know she was flattered.

“I see why my daughter here likes you.”

“Please. Who couldn't like me?”

“Stop making my mom like you more than me.”

“That was so fun,” gushed Hi with a smile as you drove him home. “I can totally see the resemblance, aside from your height and your eyes and your facial structure and-.”

“I thought she was too awesome for you?” you teased, amused.

“Oh, she is. But in a good way. Like you. I love you even though I don't deserve you.”

Thrumming your fingers on the steering wheel, you fought the urge to roll your eyes at his cheesiness, adding, “I'm glad you got to meet her. And you didn't mess up as badly as you thought you would, so that's a plus, isn’t it?”

“For sure.” He gazed out the window, watching the river as you crossed it, the calm waters only lit by the moon. “You'd be good at it, you know.”

“At what? Meeting my mom?”

“No, no! At being a mom.” You turned to him, and almost immediately, your boyfriend blushed. “N-not to say that we should have one – I mean, like, we're still in high school – I mean, we could always do the – not to pressure you, I mean – why did I even start talking? Oh, look, it's my stop.”

You laughed. “Dork. I'll see you tomorrow?”

“If I haven't died yet of embarrassment,” he answered, pointing finger guns at you before unbuckling his seatbelt. “Thanks for driving me home, Y/N. I love you.”

“Love you too,” you responded, smiling as he cupped your cheek and quickly pressed his lips to yours.

He got out, and you watched his figure retreat, a hand resting over the gear shift but not changing it just yet, musing to yourself.

Would we be good parents?

There was absolutely no denying that you had considered, well, sex – after all, the two of you had been in a relationship for longer than two years, and had already dropped the 'l' bomb.

But actually going through with it? Another story entirely.

Not to mention, what if Chance heard us or something happened?

You were an accident, and you didn't want to be stuck with one, either.

Finally, you shifted into drive, letting the moonlit road take over your thoughts.

A/N: Thanks for reading. Hit me up with your thoughts! Part three is here!

[limnotlimb-blog]

Music Memoir

chapter one: this must be the place (naive melody)

 “C’mon, Annie” Lauren elbows me in my side, “stop dragging ass!”  I push her and laugh, spilling her Miller Lite tall boy in the process.  We’re followed by our usual round-up: Tori, Gabby, and Blake.  I feel the bass in the air well before I see the party itself.   It was an old house, a couple miles down from our university campus.  It was our friend from high school’s housewarming party, and we didn’t know anyone else who would be there.  I was nervous, but had also found it’s usually more fun that way.  We can be anyone in the distorted light of parties with strangers.  The summer after high school, she was our first friend to get her own place and we were ecstatic to party somewhere besides our mom’s houses.  The door ajar, I push it open, feeling the warm air against my legs.  The traditional fluorescent lightbulbs have been abandoned for bulbs in hues of pink, orange, purple.  People are packed, not quite to sardines, but it was going to get there before the night was through .

My eyes drift, surveying the scene and people within it; warm eyes and sangria smiles across everyone’s face.  There’s beer pong playing right inside the door, a timeless game of skill and drinking. I move past a giggling couple to the table where drinks are in the kitchen and they had everything, and I mean everything.  I was impressed by the spread of refreshments, from cheap beer to the most popular liquors and even wine in addition to the bowl of sangria.  There were six packs of Gatorade stacked up on the left side, which act as a sort of holy water against the evil of tomorrow’s likely hangover.  I scoop some sangria, a tangy red with floating bites of oranges, into the signature solo cup of the same color.  I become best friends with a girl in the bathroom who had an extra hair tie, whose face I immediately forgot as soon as I stepped from the bathroom.  My boots stuck to the floor, creating a noise of tape being peeled from plastic as my heel escaped the layer of sticky, spilled PBR. I feel the laughter in the air almost more than the rhythmic bass itself.  The unmistakable verve of David Byrne’s voice echoes through me, “This Must Be the Place (Naïve Melody)” is welcomed readily and I can’t help but agree with the title: this must be the place!  Any party that ditches the tradition of electronic music in favor of 80’s pop automatically wins a place my heart and ears.  I lean against my best friend Blake and we smile, dancing to the irresistible nostalgia of the 80’s which we never lived through.  How long has this song been playing?  It feels longer than usual.  Or faster.  Is it the tempo?  It could be a remix.  Or did some asshole accidentally push the “repeat” button on their Spotify app and we’re doomed to repeat dance to this song until the end of the time?  Ha! What a weird limbo to exist in, neither here nor there; neither of the 80’s nor modern dance music.  I know one thing for sure, if I was going to be doing the limbo, it would have to be with Talking-Heads era David Byrne.  Talking Heads eventually leave their spotlight, and is picked up by fellow nostalgia. Tears for Fears, DEVO, David Bowie, Hall & Oates, Prince, and the like; all my classic pop friends were here.  The strangers were strangers nor more.  They were the girl from the bathroom with the hair tie, the cute boy that pulled me in to play beer pong with, the smiling couple who just had to have us over for dinner sometime, and of course a few faces from high school in addition to the friends I arrived with.  

Under the lavender light I felt alive.  My heart swelled and I felt like a babe in the woods.  My wide eyes were naïve in this sweet light.  I felt like I could touch the stars of glitter across my friends faces and swim through the night.  I felt beautiful and infinite and all the clichés at once.  I didn’t want the night to end, and ended up passing out on the couch between my friends, still wearing my sticky boots.

Cover up and say goodnight, goodnight.

chapter two: golden years

 It’s the summer again, this time three years later.  It’s the summer of which two balloons, gold, were permanently taped up in my kitchen: “21” they read.  My birthday was before the official beginning of summer, a sunshine day in late May.  Every two weeks after that, more or less, one of our friends turned the same, ever-so-hyped twenty-one.  It felt like “Groundhog Day”, but instead of Bill Murray and a rodent, it was cheap beer and bad decisions .  I found myself in the same night with the same people with the same events playing again.  We felt originally liberated by the party.  But, by this time, house parties had grown old, and the thrill of paying too much for liquor in public was very much in trend.  It was a Tuesday.  Or a Wednesday.  It was some day, it was any day.  I remember I wasn’t feeling incredible.  Something inside me itched, and I bit my lip anticipating the night.  I was feeling an anxiety in going out again, already having a bad night worrying about having a bad night.  I had been snappy all day and was talked into going out to the bar, my friends convinced this would relax me.  Why not give it a shot, I thought.

Our friends dropped us off as they rolled downtown on their way to a nightclub instead.  Arm in arm with my boyfriend, Conner, we were followed by two more friends as stepped out into the pavement.  The day’s heat still radiated from the sidewalk as we flashed our ID’s to the bouncer. In the state of Utah, all alcoholic beverages purchased must be consumed within the fence of the patio, making it a very crowded space.  This patio wasn’t much of a patio at all, more like a wooden pig pen attached outside this building.  It was about five feet deep and thirty feet long.  It overflowed with loud twenty-somethings, chain-smoking cigarettes and breathing it into each other’s faces.  In the small space their laughter bounced off each other, each smile magnifying the last.  I couldn’t make out individual conversations because of the crowd, so they simply buzzed as a whole to me as I walked by.  The smoke was lit by the neon signs behind them, Budweiser AT THE TWILITE CLUB.  Vivid pinks and blues shadowed their faces in opposite directions.

We had to push past layers of bodies to make it the bar.  Two of their cheapest beers (Rainer tall boys) and two shots of whiskey, please.  While I gagged, I couldn’t deny the whiskey warmed my stomach and got me closer to where I wanted to be.  That anxious itch in my heart felt soothed, but I still felt tense about work.  I had worked somewhere for three years, and needed to quit.  One shot please.  I was pissed at the dent a stranger left on my car, another. I wasn’t making enough money to cover student loans? Fuck it, let’s do a whiskey ginger.  It tastes better anyways.  Starting to feel anxious about the money I’m spending here, too? Hey, treat myself, right?  The heat of anger left my heart and moved to my stomach.  I didn’t want to be an angry girl, I wanted to just be fun.  I didn’t want to snap at drunken compliments, I wanted to be the party.  I wanted what those pink-blue faces had out front, I wanted the smiles and to forget the rest of the world outside of this dingy bar. I wanted to be happy again.  I realized I ached for the easy summer after high school, when I felt forever was now.  I remembered my sangria smile and wanted to be that again.  

My thought was interrupted.  I had to pee. The lounge’s bathroom as painted an outdated pink and the line poured out.  Why did I even come here tonight?  The cheap drinks were hard to resist (whiskey sours for four dollars?!) but I sure was paying for it now in this endless line to sweet relief. Groups of girls and boys would pour out of these tiny single stalls, cackling in shrieks louder than when they went in.  One girl, donning a beanie labeled “baby” shoved into me.  I pulled back: “lighten up!” she yelled past the sound of her friends’ grinding teeth.  I made my way into the stall, finally, and pulled my skirt down and took a seat. That hyped-girl was right, I need to loosen up.  Why did I come here if I was just going to be pissed off about it?    It started feeling hollow to me.  I found comfort in the dim light before, leaning against friends in the old pleather booths.  They weren’t here anymore; they vacated as newer things excited them.  People familiar had left this scene and I felt terribly alone.  I wasn’t where they were, and home is where I wanted to be.  

Past the bar there was a jukebox.  A relic of a past I never knew, I still was fond of it.  I liked this jukebox.  I liked it because when I flipped through the selections again and again, I saw my friends.  I found David Bowie’s “Greatest Hits” resting after D’Angelo but before The Rolling Stones. I keyed in 6809, enter and Bowie’s “Golden Years” started to creak through the old speakers and serenaded the bar from the grave.  The twangy yet funk guitar rang in; and I moved my hips in rhythm.  I loved to dance but this felt foreign.  My legs moved wrong and arms were awkward.  That heat in my stomach returned, but not for long while it started working its way up my throat.  I moved past my boyfriend and the bodies, back into the baby-pink bathroom.  No line, I managed to grab a stall just before the whisky evacuated my stomach and right back the way it came.  Don’t let me hear you say your life is over, life’s taking you nowhere, angel.  Oh, Bowie, how do you know?  You’re an angel now; or maybe the mothership took you back to mars, Starman.  Come on, get up, baby.  Never in the twenty years we both lived on this earth did he call me baby my name, but it felt good to think he was singing to me.  Look at that sky, life’s just begun. Nights are warm and the day is young.  There was no sky in this stall, just a bittersweet pale pink.  I wiped my mouth and looked up nonetheless.  I felt cold in this bathroom, and rocked back.  I didn’t want these to be my golden years. Those my senior told me these were going to be the best years of my life, and that scared me.  What the hell was I doing I sat on the floor with my back to the wall.  There’s my baby, lost that’s all.  A soft knock on the door.

“Baby?” his familiar voice asked.    Once I’m begging you to save your little soul.  Standing up, I wipe my gagged tears.  I open the door and there’s my guy.  Conner takes my hand.  “Let’s go home”.

Come, get up, my baby.

chapter three: warm enough for you

The next day I wake up to my roommate’s cat sleeping on my face.  I picked him off me and he looks at me, annoyed. He blinked, meowed, and ran off. I wrap myself in my robe and make my way to the bathroom.  I run the water into the ivory bathtub.  As the water is running, I find my Bluetooth speaker in my roommate’s room.  I work my way back, stopping only to feed the cat, and stop the water, adding the finishing touch of pink rose Epsom bath salts to the blue water.  I find the album on my phone and press play.  To SZA’s sweet voice, I drop my robe and step in, feeling the warmth rise as I sink in.  

Why is it so hard to accept that the party is over? Bring the gin, got the juice

Bring the sin, got that too

 I’m glad I got over my aversion to contemporary music.  Thinking back to those summers before, I couldn’t believe I dismissed decades of music purely because of the time it was created. Pretentious, yeah, I thought I was the shit back then. It was as if I was somehow superior because I owned “Dark Side of the Moon” on vinyl and definitely listened to it before you had (despite being born twenty-three years after its release).  I remember holding my iPod classic, finding it proper I only fill it with classics.  At this early age, around fourteen, I had fallen victim to the “hipster mentality” that was gaining traction in my suburbs, with a dash of rigid loyalism to classic rock.  I would dismiss artists or songs, simply because they were popular. Looking back at this, I don’t completely understand why I would limit myself.  Music could make me feel so many things, why would I dismiss entire categories or eras of music simply to feel “cool”?  In my bath I still felt the cold shiver of cringe, the kind only past embarrassment could cause.  I felt I knew so much back then.  This was met by an irony I was well aware of, that at any point in time I will think I know so much.  And three years from now I’ll think the same about this moment, then three years from then, and three years from then, and so forth.  I’ll be in perpetual state of vanity and naïveté until the end of my days. That’s something I should just accept now, I figure, why fight it?  There are plenty of other things that have happened over the past few years, besides my slight increase in self-awareness.

Won't you just shut up, know you're my favorite

Am I...

The cat found his way back in and sat atop the bathroom sink.  He stared blankly at me again, got down, and walked over. He put his front paws against the rim of the tub.  “Mrow” he yelled.  I reached my wet hand out and waited. He gave sandpaper licks then gave me a wide-eyed stare.  His name was Bowie, which my roommate named due to the striped marks across face; not too unlike the Aladdin Sane cover with the blue and red lightning bolt across the rock star’s face.  I called him Bowie-cat, so no one would confuse him with rock-n-roll’s deity—as if that was going to happen anyways.  He could be the reincarnate, I hoped, as he was born around the time his human counterpart died.  There’s the vanity again!  If David Bowie decided to come back down to our earth I’m sure as hell it wouldn’t be this cat.  I could dream though, I figured.  

Bowie-Cat stepped down and I let my hand rest in the air after him.  I wanted him to stay, but who tells a cat what to do? I was alone in my dim bathroom, and despite the warm water I felt the unmistakable chill of loneliness.  I wanted my friends back, real and famous. I wanted Bowie and Prince back, I wanted my old friends from that summer after high school to come back.  I wanted my friend that overdosed to come back, and all his shitty friends too.  I remembered the night before.  I did feel better, in those moments.  All those people in the Twilite Lounge were in it together that night, in a pool of whisky and laid-back smiles.  We were swimming together in it and I felt a little less lost.

Warm enough for ya outside baby, yeah

(Tell me that it's warm enough here for ya)

Is it warm enough for ya inside me, me, me, me

Warm enough for ya outside baby, yeah

 SZA’s lament still echoed in my bathroom.  I lowered my face into the bathwater, smelling the rosewater and I submerged. I sink my nose in first, blowing bubbles against the water.

I get so lonely, I forget what I'm worth.

We get so lonely, we pretend that this works.

 I lower my face in and feel the warmth creep over my closed eyes and hair.  I want to incubate in here, have this rose bath become my cocoon. Then perhaps I could emerge once again in three years, doubly wise and not hungover.

chapter four: blackstar

It had been a few months since my last visit to the Twilite Lounge downtown. I know this because the leaves had abandoned their post and now crunched under my heel.   Conner and I had been lying low, spending our nights at home with our new friend: HBO.  We get a call; it’s our friend’s last night in Utah before he makes the move to upstate New York.  He was going to start over, his aunt had a restaurant up there or something.    His name was Bo, and he as a wanderer.  Twilite Lounge was his favorite bar, with his favorite drinks priced cheap and favorite drug dealers.  I look deep for courage and manage to gather it, somewhere between applying my winged eyeliner and burgundy lipstick.  One thing was still certain, dark lipstick made me feel like a bad bitch and I was ready to face the world.  

I take the liquor slower this time.  It’s hard to say no when your friends throw salt-rimmed tequila shot in your face yelling “Shots!”  I indulge and take one, and shake my head at the combination of salt, tequila, and lime. I was feeling confident that night, and the tequila only fueled that.  I see our friend Bo, and we join him in a booth.  The sound of pool balls clacking together and drunken hollers blurred and I smiled on all of them.

I wanted to see Bowie that night.  I wanted to feel the exuberance of his single “Fashion” or the unforgettable joy of “Under Pressure” where Bowie and Freddy Mercury of Queen belt together.  I clicked through and through… I couldn’t find his greatest hits anywhere.  My eyes frantically searched and the only Bowie I found was stark black star against a white square.  My heart sunk at this album—it was his swan song of an album: Blackstar.

“They took it off! Conner, it’s gone!  They put ‘Blackstar’ instead.  Why the hell would you want to listen that here?  That’s not a good song for drinking.”  I pointed harder against the glass while I spoke, as if that would magically change what was behind there.

“It’s what’s ‘cool’ right now.  Or, it’s what they play when they want people to leave.”  Conner smiled, “You know, bum them out and kill their buzz.”

             Conner put his shoulder around me and assured me the album was still out there, we could even listen to it on the way home.  My mind was still stuck on “Blackstar” while he comforted me, because David Bowie knew he was dying.  He knew for a long time, it was a cancer.  It was the first album without himself on the cover, it felt like a goodbye.  His face missing on the cover felt clear to me, we better get used to not having him around.  The most striking track, to me, would be “Lazarus”.  I may not be religious but I can appreciate a good old fashioned biblical allegory. Lazarus rose four days after his death by the hand of Jesus.  David Bowie wrote this song for an Off-Broadway production with the same name.  It followed the character that David Bowie played in 1976, in “The Man Who Fell to Earth”, an alien who came to Earth in search of water to save his home planet.  Spoiler alert for a thirty-year-old movie—the alien is sensitive to light and blinded by a paparazzi camera.  He is unable to fix his ship and return home, now stranded on the planet Earth. The production follows the alien years later.

David Bowie was asked to write “Lazarus” for this fictional character’s second story.  Despite it being for a musical production, it does feel thinly veiled to be biographical. David Bowie did portray the man who fell to Earth, and he act the same alien persona in his music.  Was he not the Starman?  Had he not contemplated life on mars?  He was a space oddity and beautiful.  

I stood frozen, lost in thought, my finger on the button and my eyes unfocused on the album cover of Blackstar.  Conner came up to me, and I showed him the tragedy of Greatest Hits’ goodbye.

David Bowie died three days after the release of this single, music video, and the album.  I remember waiting after I heard, I waited for four days.  I watched the milky white record of The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars spin round and round, while I refused to take the needle off the record.  It spun in silence, but I didn’t want it to end. After the four days, David Bowie proved he was no Lazarus and did not rise—I felt alone without him in this world.

I stayed and closed the bar that night.  I had a pocket full of quarters and was determined to get that sweet high score on the Indiana Jones pinball machine up front.  I didn’t want to leave Conner and his friends, but I couldn’t go and be with them either.  I arrived late that night, and by time I arrived most were well on their way to a hangover the next morning.  I didn’t want to play catch-up, so we were working on two completely different wavelengths.  I felt uptight and, honestly, lame.  I felt like a boring old woman, only able to watch my friends from across the bar.  I felt like I couldn’t connect with them.  I nursed a local pale ale on tap, and played pinball wizard against the machine.  My final pin ball for the game slid past the two clickers and into the machine.  Game over.

             I felt a tap on my shoulder.  It was Bo.  I said before, he was a wanderer.  I had only known him for a month or two, but he was my boyfriend’s best friend for the past six months when he wandered into Salt Lake City.  He had greasy fake-bleached hair and was covered in hand-poked tattoos.  His eyes were red that night and his jaw was working overtime.  I didn’t know how I felt about him as a whole.  He had once showed me his tattoo: the twin towers and a plane, reaching from above his hip bones to his nipple.  The ink was crudely tattooed into his side, resulting in what seemed like a toddler’s doodle, vibrated into his skin.  I didn’t know if it was in remembrance of 9/11, satire, or maybe an ode to the conspiracy theory he believed in.  He told me he was passed out on heroin at the time, and while he would never admit regret to anything you could see it in his eyes.

             He also showed me beauty in his poetry and his kindness.  His heart ached for those in pain, and I could see the art bursting out of him. He was grandiose in his stories, and while I suspected hyperbole I would never call him out.  There was something magical about this character, and I didn’t want to pop the surreal bubble he lives in.

             Without words, he wrapped me in a tight hug that pulled me off the ground.  He whispered to me, “I’m scared to go.  I’ll miss all this.  Don’t hurt him”.  Just as quickly as he had embraced me he was gone, sliding past bodies pulling a smoke out of his pocket to smoke on the patio.  I stood for a moment, dazed, and went to find Conner.  He and a handful of our friends were crowding a small booth in the back.  

             Conner and I were tired that night.  I still felt out of place and it showed—I was itching to get out of there.  I asked if we could just quickly slip away.  Conner looked me in the eyes, with a serious c’mon. We couldn’t leave without a real goodbye.  I knew, and I was avoiding it.  Bo was such a surreal character and he slipped into my life without precedent and it felt weird to have him leave.  Conner grabbed my hand and wove me through the bar.  We couldn’t find him anywhere.  I checked the girl’s bathroom stall and behind the bar, no Bo.  Conner checked the boy’s restroom and the patio, no go for Bo.  We saw a friend of his and asked him where Bo went; he said he saw him skate away about ten minutes ago.

             How fitting, for this character to leave with a cat’s goodbye.  He slunk out of our lives as easily as he slipped in.  Conner and I stared down the street in the direction his friend pointed, and I felt Conner accept his friend had moved on to his next misadventure.

             I drove us home that night.  My mind wandered while I drove us the brief distance to my house. I looked to my right and saw Conner’s face, the red of the stop light reflecting off his face .  I saw shimmer below his eye before he was able to wipe it away.  I looked back to the road and felt a guilt settle inside me.  I had judged Bo the first time I met him.  He was on a 24-hour cocaine binge and his mouth was running a hundred miles an hour while he talked to me about the magnificent craft of Charles Bukowski. I couldn’t help but think of course this guy likes Bukowski.  He was strange but left a mark.

             I parked the car and walked with Conner inside. He undressed and slid into bed in quick motions, and was out before I had taken my shoes off.  I could tell his heart was hurting; he was going to miss his friend.  I found him exhaling a slight snore, and it seemed I wasn’t the only one who heard him. Bowie-Cat came in, greeted me with a “mrow!” and silently jumped on the bed and laid on his pillow, next to Conner’s face.  I pet and kissed both of their heads and went to my living room.

             My mind was empty as I sat down to unlace my Doc Marten boots.  I was reflecting on the night, and to fill the void David Bowie’s Lazarus started to creep in.The kick drum and rhythmic picking of an electric guitar.  The saxophone chimes in melancholy.  Look up here, I’m in Heaven.  I’ve got scars that can’t be seen.  Bowie’s voice rang in.  I again thought of Bowie in Heaven, then I thought of Bo in Upstate New York.  I’d never been there, but maybe it could be his heaven.  I know Conner was going to miss him.  His sleeping mind was probably replaying tonight over and over.  

I’ve got drama, can’t be stolen.  Everybody knows me now.

I judged Bo for the things he did.  For the binge-drinking and drug use, for his strange tattoos.

Look up here, man, I'm in danger.  I've got nothing left to lose.

I'm so high, it makes my brain whirl.

             As I kicked off my boots it began to sunk in. Bo was gone, David Bowie too.  It was like all the empathy I should have been feeling while I knew Bo himself flooded in.  I felt a shame boil in my belly.  It was like Bo fell to earth in Salt Lake City.  I started to understand, then.  These blue and pink faces weren’t necessarily free of loneliness or pain. In fact, it probably was felt inside them under the belly of cheap liquor like mine was.  We were all the same, just trying to be less alone. Things like drinking made it easier, it created a common denominator for people.  It became easier to talk, mouths became looser and social anxieties relaxed. Everyone was just trying to feel a little more connected, a little freer.  That’s what I felt those summers ago.  I felt liberated in the orange-pink light and fuzz of sangria.  Parties and bars and drinking, they were all methods to arrive at that feeling.  It may not have been a healthy reliance, but it felt good to exercise that right.  I deserved to feel connected, everyone does. Every pink and blue face I met deserved it.  We may have all fallen to Earth, blinded by its beauty, with nowhere to go.  We’re here on Earth until we’re not—until we return to heaven, mars, nowhere, or everywhere.  It’s easy to feel alien in these bodies, but we can find each other in the dark here, with the assistance of neon lights and long nights.  

Oh, I'll be free

Just like that bluebird

Oh, I'll be free

Ain't that just like me?

   The end.

   Tracks (In text)

This Must Be the Place (Naïve Melody) Talking Heads

Golden Years David Bowie

Drew Barrymore SZA

Lazarus David Bowie

 Tracks (bonus)

Kiss Prince

Head over Heels Tears for Fears

I Can’t Go for That Hall & Oates

Hung Up Madonna

Bunny Ain’t No Kind of Rider of Montreal

Heroes David Bowie