#if she was alive she’d make EVERYONE cake pops!!!!

[anomal-studios]

Meet the most beautiful woman in ALL of ramshackle!

(Sora’s mamá, Stone’s mom-in-law, and Dante’s deceased wife💜💜💜💜)

[tryskomys]

Wet Sand

Stone Gossard x OC

Chapter 11 - She

Summary: let’s say that it was bad for my self-preservation.

masterlist

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notes: w o a h. this halloween story took so long that it’s half-past november. but finally, here it is. sorry it took so long, dearest readers. i feel like this is short af for some reason, even tho it’s fucking 6,6k words? idk i hope you like it <3 my timeline might be a bit off with this one - you’ll know what i’m talking about when you get there - but hey, that’s the way the cookie crumbles. the next chapter will be very important, so fingers crossed guys, let’s hope that it turns out cool! love you all <3

tws: mentions of shitty childhood, awkwardness, realisations. rude words (btw tipper gore is a ***** **** ** ***).

songs:

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October 31st, 1988

“Oh, look at you!” Keeva hollered as Jeff emerged from the staff room of the café, wearing little furry cat ears on top of his bandana. “Will you meow for me?”

“I’m not sure where you’re going with this, but you know - anything for the birthday girl,” Jeff shrugged and started re-filling the to-go cups.

“It’s a marketing strategy, Ames. You and your trapezoid jawline paired with cat ears equal big Halloween tips from every chick that walks through that door,” she explained, pointing at the paper bat decorations hanging along the walls. “And I really appreciate it, you’re like my little personal party clown!”

Keeva dreaded the celebrations that came with birthdays but thankfully, being born on Halloween slightly diluted everyone’s attention.

Back home, her birthday was usually acknowledged as an afterthought at dodgy Halloween parties and celebrated with a round or two of cheap alcohol. She never had enough friends to have a proper birthday party, but she didn’t mind - even a simple congratulation was a tough moment of awkwardness to swallow, so she appreciated the peace that came with being alone in the world.

But now, being in Seattle, she made more good friends in a year than any friends during all of the twenty years she’d been alive. And it showed - the day before, she visited Andy at the rehab center and he somehow managed to sneak in a piece of cake and wrote her a little song. They talked for hours, laughed, cried - and that alone was the most heartwarming celebration she’d ever had, which was strange considering the circumstances.

Chris called her first thing in the morning to congratulate her and to make sure she and Stone could make it to the release party of Soundgarden’s first album. It was supposed to be Halloween-themed - he was trying to sniff out whether they already had their costumes.

As soon as she came to work, Jeff popped out of the staff door with a cupcake and his signature cat-like grin, singing Happy Birthday as loud as he could because he knew she would be embarrassed - he got her the new guitar strings she’d been dying to try out.

But to her surprise, Stone didn’t tease her much in the morning before they both left for work. In fact, he didn’t make much of a fuss at all. She was glad, but deep inside she’d hoped that he would be the one to tease her the most, as always. It was strange that he was deliberately missing the opportunity to embarrass her.

“Well, if you make it ‘til the end of the day through all the birthday crap, you might get a little something.”

Keeva was inspired when Jeff put on Kiss at work a few days earlier - she did have a certain phase when she was a pre-teen, so she decided to tap into her inner child and dress up as Ace Frehley on the cover photo of Dressed To Kill. She’d borrowed a suit from Stone - she had to heavily cuff the pants and the sleeves and her tie was a couple of inches longer than it should be, but the whole attire ended up looking not too shabby.

The guys’ album was amazing. Electric, heavy and nothing like anything else going around. They played it live from start to finish at the official release party with all the important folks and then moved on to Kelly Curtis’s house to a more intimate party.

Keeva dropped the jacket some time ago, so there she was, sitting on the fluffy carpet of Kelly’s floor, her back resting against the wall. After tapping off the debris from her cigarette in the ashtray next to her, she took a big drag and let the smoke out through her nose with a big exhale.

She rolled up the sleeves of her white shirt and loosened the tie around her neck. When she was done, she sat back and silently observed the mayhem going around her - and for once in her life, she wouldn’t want to be anywhere else than a party.

Regan, sporting denim overalls and a straw hat, was in the corner next to the snack table, listening to a girl with pink bunny ears as she animatedly explained something to him. When he giggled, Keeva squinted with an amused smirk.

Is he blushing? What the hell…

Jerry, Mike and Sean from Alice - as the Three Blind Mice - were standing in a circle with Susan, who was the Tooth Fairy (Chris was the tooth), holding hands and frolicking to the rhythm of the Paula Abdul song that was booming through the speakers. She scoffed and took another puff.

God, Stoney must be having a field day with this soundtrack.

On cue, she searched for him in the crowd. He wasn’t with Kim or Jeff - The Godfather and Steven Tyler - who were standing by the speakers laughing, neither he was anywhere around the snack table. But after a few minutes of searching, her eyes finally fell upon him - he was alone, sitting on a cushion next to the fireplace and reading a magazine.

His face was obscured with thick weed smoke that swirled from his pipe, but the silver glitter around his eyes twinkled even through the cloud. She couldn’t help but giggle at the sight of his green boa jacket.

“Well, what do you think?” he exclaimed when he walked out of the bathroom and twirled around. She did a spit-take just as she was finishing her tea and stared at him. He had silver glitter smeared all over his eyes, along with some really strong black eyeliner. He had his hair down. It was unusually wavy today.

He looked otherworldly - from the neck up, that was. Keeva couldn’t hold a loud laugh when she darted between the big fluffy feathers he was wearing and the torn, clearly home-dyed jeans of a similar shade.

“You’re a hot frog?” she questioned, unable to tear her eyes off of the outrageous outfit. Stone rolled his eyes.

“No, try again.”

“A glittered-up bag of weed?”

“What? No!”

“A glammy quasi-reptile?”

“Yes! Exactly! I’m T-Rex!” he said and failed to keep a straight face, breaking into giggles. “T-Rex. Get it?”

She started cackling, too and felt her face paint smudge as the laughter forced a tear out of her eye.

“Sometimes I can’t decide if you’re a misunderstood genius or a complete moron.”

“Both can be true at the same time, Baby.”

Just as she was about to get up and go to him, something caught her attention.

Huh?

She wasn’t sure if she’d heard correctly, but under the general chattering and music appeared a silent melody from the other room. She could barely decipher the song.

Who the fuck is playing Stevie Ray Vaughan at one in the morning in the middle of a house party?

Her eyebrows knitted as she leaned backwards, curiously peeking into the room next to the hallway. Her lips slowly curled into an amused grin.

On a big velvet armchair next to the window sat a guy, clutching an acoustic guitar as he leaned closer to a record player to hear better. He was thin as a twig, the shadows of his ribcage kinda made him look like a kid. She could see all of that, because - for whatever reason - he was shirtless. He nodded his head back and forth to the rhythm of the song, brown hair shaking from side to side.

The widest of smiles spread across her face when he flipped his hair away, revealing his face - and most importantly the poorly drawn Ace makeup that was smudged all over it.

His eyes were rolled back into his skull and she could’ve sworn a droplet of drool was forming in the corner of his mouth. Most likely because he was shredding licks like there was no tomorrow.

He wasn’t playing as precisely as Stone or as sneakily as her - he was a completely different beast. It reminded her of a strange shamanic ritual, like he was trying to summon some sort of a blues deity that was living inside of him.

Keeva tried to perk her ears as much as she could, but she couldn’t properly hear him, so she decided to move a bit closer. She hopped up and snaked through the crowd to the other room. Even though the floor creaked as she stepped into the doorframe, the guy didn’t notice at all and continued his meditation.

She crossed her arms and leaned against the doorframe as her grin grew wider. The way he was able to sustain the licks on an acoustic was mesmerizing. She was surprised she’d never seen him around before. Then, the record scratched and he went on his own for a few moments before finally stopping.

When he opened his eyes and noticed Keeva, he jumped in the armchair and let out a loud gasp. She could’ve sworn he muttered the tiniest “Ace?” under his breath in shock before grounding himself in reality.

Keeva giggled as he clutched on his chest. She could pinpoint the moment he snapped out of the trance - the melody visibly disappeared from his brown eyes as he rapidly blinked to focus on her, clearly somehow still not certain if Ace Frehley was really just standing there, judging his guitar playing.

That apparently wasn’t an easy task - with the way he was swaying in the armchair, rock and roll clearly wasn’t the only thing he was high on.

“Shit, how long have you been here?” he mumbled after he rubbed his eyes and squinted to get a better look at his surroundings. She sighed and nonchalantly checked her non-existent watch.

“About an hour and a half,” Keeva shrugged, but couldn’t keep a straight face when his button eyes nearly popped out of his head. Along with the thin pointy nose and bushy eyebrows, he reminded her of some small owl.

“Christ, sorry. Like, ten minutes,” she giggled, scratching her head. He huffed and cursed under his breath, softly banging his head against the guitar to wake himself up.

“Sneaking away, are we, Ace?” he questioned, giving her a cheeky smile. Keeva raised her eyebrows.

“I could ask you the same thing, Ace. You’re the one shredding along with the mighty SRV instead of socializing,” she quipped back but slowly began to feel bad that she interrupted what was clearly a moment of absolute peace.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude on you, just wanted to hear you better. I’ll be on my way again,” she continued and gave him a small smile, tapping the doorframe. “Just wanted to say you’re fucking amazing.”

“Uh, no, I’m rusty as hell, sorry. Haven’t played in some time. Thanks so much, though, thanks!” he humbly retorted just as she was turning around to leave. “I’m Mike, by the way!”

Keeva turned back and chuckled.

Rusty my ass. If you’re rusty, then I’m a freshly mummified Egyptian.

“Hey, Mike, I’m Keev-”

“Kiki, I know! So nice to meet you, greenie! Loved the show last night,” he babbled, motioning her to come back into the room. His enthusiasm was too contagious to shrug him off.

“Glad you did, Mike -” Keeva giggled and then a realization hit her, her eyes widening. “Wait. Mike…Mike? As in McCready?”

“Yeah?” he said, raising his eyebrows. She gasped.

“Oh man, so that’s why I haven’t seen you around!” she excitedly clapped and pattered over to him like a giddy child. She sat on the floor next to him, crossing her legs.

“Yeah, just got back a couple of months ago,” Mike said with a little slur in his voice. Her heart skipped a beat.

Fuck. Shadow. Let’s not go there.

"Stoney told me so much about you!” she rushed to change the subject and patted his bony knee. “Feel like I should get an autograph or something.”

“Not sure if that’s good or bad,” he chuckled and Keeva noticed a little blush filling his cheeks, even through the smudged white paint.

“Are you joking? We have a signed Shadow poster on the wall, sometimes I touch the little heart above the ‘i’ in your name for good luck,” she giggled again, but mentally punched herself.

Shit. No Shadow, idiot.

Mike was clearly not sure whether he should be happy or not.

“That’s cool.”

A few moments of awkward silence filled the otherwise empty room before he slid from the armchair like an eel and sat next to her, putting the guitar down in his place.

“Love the Jag, by the way! Such a cool one,” Mike said and ran his hand through his hair. Keeva grinned.

“Thanks! I love offsets in general, but Jags just have a special place in my heart. It’s like they have a bunch of built-in effects.”

“Yeah, that’s why I never learned how to work them,” he explained with a chuckle. “It feels like you gotta know fucking quantum physics to figure out all the switches.”

“Good point,” she leaned on her knees. “I’ve never really played anything else for as long, so…”

Mike’s eyes popped open.

“Wait, like this is your first guitar?”

“Well,” Keeva sighed. “Before that, I had a cheap little Mustang that fell apart almost as soon as I brought it home - bought that one off a kid at school for a bag of weed I stole from my parents.”

His innocent laugh indicated that he probably thought that was a cool thing. She continued with a shrug.

“So the first proper guitar, yeah. Seven years and counting. Although I think it’s, like, a ‘64, so it’s been going for quite some time.”

“Woah, nice,” he nodded and whistled. “Mom and Dad gave it to you?”

She let out a bitter scoff, which made him jump a little.

“Pft, fuck no,” she waved her hand and paused for a second. She surely wasn’t one to share childhood stories with anyone she stumbled upon at a party, but something about Mike’s eyes was so kind, so inviting. Like an old friend catching up with you, eagerly waiting to hear the tales of what had happened while he was gone. “One day I stumbled upon this tiny little music store near Shoreditch, that’s where I lived. I needed my Mustang repaired real bad - something wrong with the bridge.”

A tiny girl walked through a dim alleyway, dragging a guitar case that was nearly bigger than her - she was clearly struggling, her thin arms about as strong as two matchsticks. Little mousy curls were sticking out of her two pigtails as if she hadn’t brushed them for days and then braided them without a mirror.

Her eyebrows were twisted in a nervous frown and she chewed on her lips - even they were peppered with fair freckles, matching her whole face.

As she nearly stumbled through the door into a shabby music store, the bell above the frame rang so loudly she had to cringe. And her stress only grew when she walked in - behind the counter stood a man with a bushy beard, full of muscle and sporting an irritated glare.

He must’ve been at least six-foot-five. His huge hairy arms were crossed as he scanned her up and down, his face still hardened.

She could tell that he stopped to stare at the alarming grey patch of hair that was woven through the curls above her forehead - along with the deep dark circles under her eyes, it was obviously puzzling. Clearly, his sales didn’t come from malnourished greying pre-teens.

“Can I help you, pipsqueak?” he asked. His voice was gravely and deep as if he’d been smoking red Marbs ever since he was born - which must’ve been at least fifty years ago. She shuddered and dared to walk a bit closer.

“Um, t-this is my Mustang - I mean, my guitar,” she squeaked, looking everywhere but his face. The man scoffed.

“Yeah, I know what a Mustang is, love. What’s wrong with it?” he pressed and leaned on the counter. “Speak up, I don’t have all day.”

His accent was so thick that she had a tough time understanding him, even though she was born in this East End hovel with a similar one.

She had to swallow a sarcastic remark about his delusional belief that he was busy.

This is a run-down music shop in a dodgy alleyway in the middle of East London, mate. On a Tuesday.

“Well, here it is,” she said instead and struggled to lift the case up on the counter. When he reached out to help her, she gave him a shy smile and peeped a ‘thank you’.

He did a double-take between her and the guitar - the blue finish was battered and peeling, the bridge was covered in rust and the tuning pegs were falling apart.

“This bridge is fucking wank. This thing -” he pointed at the rusty piece of metal holding the strings. She interrupted him, though, unable to hold back her natural smart-ass attitude.

“Yeah, I know what a bridge is. Maybe you can tell me what’s wrong with it?”

She was surprised when he heartily chuckled, shaking his head.

“Little shit.”

He lifted the guitar and started studying it from up close - it looked like a toy in his hands. He grumbled when he fiddled with the bridge under the strings - it was wiggling from side to side.

“There’s a lot more wrong than the bridge with this piece of shit, love. Might be cheaper for you to just buy a new one,” he shrugged, pulling on the squeaking tuning pegs.

A wave of warm tears flooded the girl’s eyes, but she bravely pushed them back, fishing around the pockets of her leather jacket - it was at least three sizes bigger than it should be. Her hand shaking, she laid a crumpled ten-pound note on the counter and cleared her throat so her voice wouldn’t crack.

“What could I get for this? Maybe new strings at least? Or if you could just change one or two tuning pegs? I’ll make it work,” she pleaded, her cheeks flaming bright red when he raised his eyebrows even higher, darting between her devastated eyes and the money.

“That’s not how tuning pegs work, love. And you can’t put strings into this. Ask your old folks for some cabbage, I’m sure they’ll help out,” he said and put the guitar back into the case.

He frowned when he noticed a tiny tear falling out of her eye as she still stubbornly stared into the floor.

“Like fuck they would,” she muttered under her breath and unceremoniously wiped her wet nose with her sleeve before putting on a small smile. “Sorry. It’s okay, sir, thank you. I’ll figure it out.”

He hummed and crossed his arms again, but his expression started to soften.

“Let me guess, this used to be a twenty-pounder but half got dissolved into booze.”

That was the moment she looked up at him, proudly straightening her back with a defiant frown.

“No, it did not! It used to be a twenty-pounder and I worked very hard for it!” she said, her eyes filling with tears again. “Dad bought a bag of coke for the rest, not me.”

The man let out a big sigh and scratched the back of his neck, clearly feeling bad for judging so quickly.

“Sorry, pipsqueak,” he said and reached out to clumsily pet her head. “My folks were the same. I’d tell you it gets better, but you just gotta wait ‘til you’re old enough to move as far away as possible.”

“Yeah,” she peeped and started scratching off the already peeling faux leather on the case. There were a few moments of awkward silence as the man thought of his next words and then he pointed at her chest.

“You know any Zappa?” he asked, his voice gruff again. She nearly forgot she had this t-shirt on and now she regretted it. Warm goosebumps ran through her from head to toe and she felt like she was going to be sick. She didn’t expect having to play.

“N- well, y-yes…uh, I mean, no - or, I don’t know, I’m not very g-”

“You play me some Zappa and I’ll consider giving you a sale. Deal?” he raised his bushy eyebrows and walked behind a curtain made of wooden pearls before she could answer.

After a short minute, he came back - carrying a run-down pastel Fender Jaguar with deep wide scratches and dents in its baby pink lacquer. It was gorgeous.

“Try it on this one, love, think you two could be friends. Same attitude.”

Keeva woke herself up from the memory with a dreamy sigh, not even knowing how she told the story. But Mike’s smile was wide, latching onto each one of her words with an excited twinkle in his eyes.

“I ended up working in that shop, actually,” she said and couldn’t help but smile, too. “Mr. Hobbs kinda took me under his wing, taught me everything I know about music.”

“We should send him a gift basket, then,” he chuckled and nudged her with his elbow. She theatrically gasped and pressed her hand on her forehead.

“Oh, you flirt.”

Keeva could almost sense the familiar pattern of comically huge feet approaching the room.

“Who the hell is disturbing my Paula Abdul with this blues bull-” Stone’s mockingly agitated voice lamented as he entered. His coat was gone, hair even messier than before and glitter now all the way down to his chin. She couldn’t help a twitch in her eyebrow.

Fucking hell, why does he always look like he just made out with someone?

When Stone’s eyes fell on Mike, his grin grew so wide that his rare dimples appeared.

“Holy shit, McCready! I knew it was you! You’re fucking amazing,” he spewed and she eased up a bit. Stone suddenly had this childlike energy around him and it just melted her heart. And If Mike was excited before, now he was positively beaming.

“Stoney, my guy!” he exclaimed and spread his arms. “What’s up, man? Greenie here tried to sneak away but I trapped her. Saw the show last night, you guys are killing it.”

“Thanks, buddy!” Stone said, patting Mike’s shoulder. He sat down next to Keeva and slapped his knees. “You should’ve said hi!”

Mike scoffed.

“I had a shift from 5 AM today and you’re fucking irresistible. I knew you’d end up getting me hammered by midnight.”

“So you’re responsible now?” Stone groaned. “God dammit, another victim of the LA lifestyle.”

Another tense silence paused the happy attitude in the room. Keeva could tell Stone knew he talked before he thought his words through - just like her. Thankfully, Mike was happy to speak and change the subject.

“So when’s the record coming out?”

They both rolled their eyes and shrugged in unison, making Mike chuckle.

“Not sure yet,” Stone sighed. “It’s changing all the time. We want an EP out in Spring but no clue about the album.”

“Right now, we’re aiming for early ‘90, but God knows,” Keeva added and Mike’s eyes popped open.

“Early ‘90?!”

“Yeah,” Stone muttered. “Takes ages, I feel like it’s cursed or some shit.”

“How’s Andy doing?”

Now it was Mike’s turn to talk without thinking. And he, too, clearly regretted asking when they both let out an identical cheerless scoff followed by a big sigh.

“Great. Yeah, he’s great. Good,” Stone repeated, trying to sound positive. Keeva took a quick peek at him before nodding.

“Great,” she said, giving Mike a tight-lipped smile. His eyebrows knitted and he nodded, too.

“Got it.”

Suddenly, it seemed like no one in the room wanted to talk - as if they were all scared that they’d make another unfortunate remark. The joy in the room was snuffed out too easily for Keeva’s liking.

Just when she thought this birthday would pass without crying, she knew that was exactly the plan her mind made up for when they come home.

“So you guys live together I’ve heard?” Mike broke the silence, trying to lift the mood. “Finally moved out of your parent's basement, Stoney?”

That made Stone chuckle and Keeva took the opportunity to jab at him. It always loosened the mood in the crowd - somehow, people enjoyed watching them bicker.

“Still live in the shack behind their house, only there’s two of us now,” she said, elbowing Stone in the ribs when he reached out to pinch her waist.

“Yeah, I guess Baby expected to move into the fucking Waldorf-Astoria when I told her I have a free attic room,” he gritted his teeth as he pulled on her hair, causing her to yelp and slap his thigh.

“You never mentioned your sweaty underwear on the bathroom floor, you smart-ass,” she hissed back and kicked his shin, causing him to retreat and raise his arms in surrender while sticking his tongue out.

Finally, Mike broke into joyful laughter and they looked at him, both hiding a satisfied grin from each other.

“How long has that been going on?” Mike said through giggles, pointing a finger between them. “You’re cute as fuck together.”

Once again, the joy turned into awkwardness.

“Oh, we’re not - no. God, no,” Keeva babbled, forcing a disgusted grimace. She looked at Stone, who followed her suit and raised his eyebrows”

“Ever heard of the term ‘roommate’?”

Mike darted between them for a few seconds and then squinted.

“…yeah, right.”

Not allowing another cringy silence, Mike quickly whipped out his wallet and took out a scratched laminated card with dog ears.

“Check this out, Stoney!”

Keeva felt her eyes fill with tears as she stared at the silver-rank Ace Frehley collectible card in front of her as if it were the Holy Grail.

No fucking way.

“Holy shit,” Stone exclaimed and lunged forward, snatching the card from Mike’s hand. “You still have it!”

Keeva followed it with her eyes, pushing the tears back with an unbelieving smile. It was as if their words were deep under the sea, dulled in her ears by the mass of water.

No. Fucking. Way.

“Yup, my good luck charm,” Mike proudly straightened his back, laughing when Stone slapped his forehead.

“Oh man, you ripped me off pretty bad on this one. Who did I get for it again? A bronze Lemmy?”

Before Mike could answer, Keeva entered their conversation, her voice still breathy with disbelief.

“Fucking hell. I can’t believe you actually have it,” she whispered, reaching out. “Can I hold it?”

Stone frowned and snorted, clearly thinking it was one of her sarcastic routines. She looked at him with such sincerity that he handed it to her without question, though.

“You good?” he asked and she shuddered when her fingers brushed against his. They were soft and cold as ice, casually handing her a piece of her lost innocence.

“Yeah, just…fuck. Long story,” she shook her head, still smiling as she studied the silver line around the card, running her thumb across the printed figure of the twig-thin man in the same face paint that was smudged on her cheeks.

“It’s not like he’s busy or anything,” Stone said, hoping to get a reaction from her, but he only got a punch in the arm from Mike.

“Fuck off, Gossard,” he chuckled. “You go on, greenie.”

For the second time that night, Keeva decided to share a memory, still squeezing the card as if her life depended on it.

“Well, first off, I was never really that into them until I saw them on the telly in, uh…’76 I think? A re-run of The Midnight Special show -“

“Oh!” Mike popped in, clearly aware of what she was talking about. Stone seemed to have no clue, though. “Good ol’ sexual awakening by Paul Stanley’s chest hair?”

“Uh, not exactly,” she grinned and looked up at them for a second before turning her attention back to the card. “You know how Ace ripped that solo on She?”

Keeva saw Mike nod in her peripheral, while Stone shook his head.

“Tall as fuck, hunching, built like a malnourished toothpick, face full of weird makeup. The shiny Sunburst…” she dreamily sighed and slowly laid on her back, lifting her feet up on the armchair. She felt a bit lightheaded. “Man, I was gone.”

She turned to them again, clutching the card to her chest like a teenage girl with her diary. Mike was beaming with enthusiastic nods. Stone, though, had one of his unreadable expressions on, laced with a small smirk. Her heart skipped a beat in her chest as she dared to linger on the sparkles around his overwhelming eyes.

It’s your birthday, girlie. Be a little bold.

“So that planted the seeds of my chronically bizarre taste in men.”

“Entertain me,” Mike chuckled, suddenly unaware of the subtext behind her stare. Keeva snapped to the ceiling, leaving Stone’s puzzled squint behind. She focused on the tiny cracks near the light - she couldn’t tell them apart from dirt smudges thanks to her poor eyesight.

Stoney Gossard’s bony shoulders accidentally shimmying off his kaleidoscope vest.

He’s so unathletic.

“Uh, Peter Gabriel - stage makeup and reverse mohawk phase,” she started counting on her fingers.

Stoney Gossard’s chicken legs bunny-hopping around the stage.

God, he’s like a newborn chicken.

“- Thin White Duke,”

Stoney Gossard’s sweaty nose scrunching when he mouths his own riffs like a nerd.

It’s definitely too big for his face. Isn’t it? It is.

“- Brian May and his spider fingers in that white bat wing blouse…”

Stoney Gossard’s bug eyes dissociating into a different plane of existence. Glowing in the harsh stage lights like two eerie gems, silver eyeshadow running all the way down to his cheekbones. Black eyeliner smudging around his eyelids, glistening with beads of sweat.

He looks so unhinged, it’s baffling.

Stoney Gossard. Period.

“Yeah, that is a fucking weird bunch,” Stone’s irresistibly annoying voice snapped her back to reality as if to spite her.

Yup.

“Thanks, Stoney. Anyway, after that, I was looking for an Ace card for years, and it was nowhere to be found. Couldn’t get any records either, ‘cause even though I was saving up, they were always sold out…so I gave up after a while,” she continued her story.

“But, like, four years later, one of the kids from band brought a tape to a rehearsal, the Kiss interview with Tom Snyder.”

Mike nodded again, leaning forward like he wanted to encourage her to keep on remembering.

“And Ace was fucking wasted, funny as hell - that maniacal laugh. It was hysterical, the best thing I’ve ever seen. True love never grows old, I guess,” she chuckled and lifted the card to her face again to admire it. “I think that was the day that I changed from a girl to a woman.”

“Honestly, I think I changed from a boy to a man with that one,” Mike said, making her giggle.

“I believe that. Well, the next day, the record store I talked about got stocked and they had a silver Ace card, just like this one.”

She allowed herself a second to decide if she wanted to continue.

“I didn’t have any money, though, so I dragged myself to my favourite spot in Hyde Park and cried for hours.”

Okay, that’s enough for today.

As endearing as Mike was, she felt like she could’ve told the whole story only if it was just her and Stone in the room. And that made her feel more vulnerable than she’d ever admit to herself.

Strangely enough, maybe she would admit it to him.

“Christ, that’s devastating,” Mike said and reluctantly took the card back when she handed it to him with a sincere grin.

“It felt like the worst day of my life. And my parents were dope addicts, so that’s saying something.”

● ● ● ● ● ●

As soon as they got home, Keeva let out a loud groan.

“Home sweet home. Man, I can’t wait to take this shit off my face, ugh,” she shivered and headed straight to the bathroom.

“At least your tear ducts aren’t blocked by glitter,” Stone mumbled, clearly tired as well.

“Your choice, smart-ass,” she called before she closed the door behind her.

They talked to Mike for a few more hours and then beelined straight home, surprisingly from Stone’s initiative. He was really eager to go for some reason. They didn’t drink that much, considering that it was such an event. Keeva was tired from all the dealing with Polygram and clearly Stone must’ve been too.

When she finally rubbed all the makeup off, she got out of the bathroom, but he wasn’t there. The curtain to her room was open, though.

Shit, is he up there? It’s so messy, Jesus. I left the bra right in front of the entrance.

“Stoney?” she called, confused.

“Uh, over here!” his voice came back from upstairs - even further than her room. Then she had a realization.

Oh. The roof window?

Keeva hopped up the stairs. The window was indeed open, just big enough for one person to squeeze through. The roof wasn’t really angled and seemed kind of stable, but…

“The hell? Are you snooping around my room? You won’t find anything, officer! Search the bottom floor, my roomie consumes more grass than a common barn animal -“

She trailed off.

“Ta-da!” Stone exclaimed and threw his arms open just as she popped her head up the window. She felt like she was in a dream.

There was a thick checkered blanket spread on the wonky roof tiles and on it laid a bunch of snacks, a six-pack, Stone’s acoustic, a few scattered papers and a plate with a tower of pancakes, a lit candle stuck in the top one.

“Come hither! Sorry that I didn’t get a cake, but I made your favourite trampled-tyre-instant-pancake extravaganza earlier,” he said and reached out to help her up. When she was fully on the roof, he scratched the back of his neck with an embarrassed grin as he continued to ramble.

“Oh, and I brought a guitar and your notes for the stuff we haven’t finished yet, you know, in case you wanted to work on them so you wouldn’t be stressed. And I got you something else than a Bud for a change. And I have some Sun Chips and that disgusting cheddar dip you love, you know, the one that doesn’t share a single molecule with any kind of cheese on the planet. And a pack of M&M’s that only has the brown ones. And we have grapes! Grapes! Can you believe that? Can you? Uh…happy b-”

Keeva almost knocked the wind out of him with the sheer strength of her hug. A risky move since they were standing on a lousy roof, but she couldn’t think about anything else than him at that moment.

No. I can’t say it. I’m not gonna say it. Don’t say it.

“I love - I love it. Thank you so much, Stoney,” she mumbled, burying her flaming red cheeks into his chest. He chuckled and tightly wrapped his arms around her, resting his chin on her head.

“I know you said you hate surprises but I thought that maybe -”

“You changed my mind,” she finished his sentence and hoped that he would realize the weight of that statement. She felt a tiny kiss in her hair and before she could say anything else, he lifted her from the ground and swung her around like a doll.

“Holy shit, we’re standing on a roof! Put me down!” Keeva yelped, but couldn’t help but laugh at Stone’s little ‘wee’ sounds as the material squeaked under them. When he put her back down, he quickly flicked her nose and reached for a little paper bag next to the pancakes.

“This is for you.”

She grinned as she peeked into it, a blush spreading across her face. Her smile grew even wider when she pulled out an oversized black t-shirt, her eyes popping open. It had a big handwritten sign that spelled ‘I FUCKED TIPPER GORE’.

“It might be a little big, but I thought it was funny.”

He remembered the night they spent in the middle of the woods on his birthday drinking and devouring every snack they got their hands on. And he remembered their hour-long discussion about the whole ‘85 Tipper Sticker fiasco and her uncompromising drunken monologue.

“They just can’t handle the fact that music is inherently sexual! Like, it always has been and always will be, the very first songs were either religious or love songs and that makes complete sense! And when you play, you’re completely devoured by music as a feeling and it controls you. Your movements, your tempo, the way you slide on the strings, everything. You are fully under its control. And if music decides that it wants to express itself in an erotic way, then fucking fine! There’s nothing I can do, I’m just a medium that the music uses to do what it pleases. Christ, fucking ‘mothers for chastity’ my ass. No sad middle-aged housewives whose husbands don’t fuck them enough should have the power to tell kids what they should and shouldn’t listen to or how they should or shouldn’t express themselves. Especially when you just know those creepy old hags have been getting railed from the back in the front seat of a car at the drive-in movies not too long ago and creamed their knickers every time Elvis shook his fucking ass.”

Stone didn’t say anything after that, just broke into a fit of hysterical laughter until he couldn’t breathe.

“You made this by hand? For me?” Keeva said, astonished at the craftsmanship. He shrugged, clearly a bit embarrassed by the homemade gift.

“I took one of my plain black t-shirts and bought some fabric paint, the one that you iron after painting so it stays on. And, uh, yeah…I- I’m sorry it’s so shitty, but I wanted to give you something s-”

“It is so special, Stoney. I love it so much, I don’t even - I don’t know what to say, all of this is just…thank you, really,” she stuttered, giving him one more tight hug.

“It was like a ‘eureka’ moment for me back there, so I thought that the rant needed to be immortalized,” Stone chuckled and gave her a quick peck on the cheek.

“A what? Why?” she giggled as she pulled away and started putting the t-shirt back in the bag.

“Uh, let’s just…let’s say that it was bad for my self-preservation,” he mumbled with a smirk and sat down on the blanket. Keeva wanted to comment on Stone’s sudden sheepishness, but it was like she was frozen in a spot at the sheer beauty of the moment.

The sky was almost laughably cliché - clear with countless twinkling stars and a full moon that shined so bright it made Stone’s skin look almost transparent. The whole city skyline was visible from where she stood, the Needle proudly stretching out into the settling fog.

“Well, let’s rip off the bandaid, Baby,” his obnoxiously charming nasal voice tore her out of her thoughts. “Your cake is getting more inedible with every minute and I don’t want you to chip your little vampire teeth before you even got a chance to suck me.”

And when she looked at her grinning friend, Keeva felt lightheaded.

Stone’s eyes were glowing brighter than ever - a head-spinning green field, full of mischief and hope for the future - as a realization slowly wrapped around her whole body like a delightfully warm blanket.

I’m in love with you.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫

[moonchildreads]

small town

Chapter 14 - Missing You

IN THIS CHAPTER: The meaning of flowers, homemade cake, and Maureen and Margaret become friends [6.0k]

WARNINGS: angst, discussions about dead parents (car accident/unspecified terminal illness), survivor's guilt, unprocessed grief - please heed my warnings. i'm currently grieving someone and this is very raw, proceed only if it won't hurt you

A/N: shout out to @duquesademiel and @justahappycloud for teaching me that it is okay to write as a form of therapy, and i'm sorry i keep sending you the sad bits of this fic only. i love you and i can't believe i get to call you my friends. also, big thank you to @boomhauer for letting me use her chosen name for eddie's dad - i admire you greatly and everyone should go and read disjointed as a thank you. we're so very lucky we have you in this fandom <3

masterlist - prev - next | playlist

You had so much hope for a brighter day Why were you my flower plucked away?

Sunday, May 11th - 1986

“What on Earth are you doing?”

Mother’s Day had always been a weird day for Dottie. When she was a toddler, it was just another calm and quiet Sunday, albeit one where her Dad wanted more cuddles than usual, which, quite frankly, already were a lot. Still, she enjoyed the extra attention and he loved holding his little girl in his arms while she took a nap on his chest so there were no complaints to be heard from either side. When she was in kindergarten, her class spent an entire Friday making gifts for their Moms. Dottie came back home with a hopeful smile and gave her paper mache and macaroni flower to her Dad, asking if he could send it all the way up to Heaven for her. James had neer been happier about the fact that they now had separate bedrooms so she wouldn’t hear him sob clutching her handcraft to his chest while she slept. When she was around 8, she asked her Dad why couldn’t they simply celebrate Mother’s Day like everyone else in her class.

Margaret’s physical absence in her daughter’s life wasn’t an unusual topic in their home; in fact, a lot of teachers commented on it as Dottie grew up, praising James for keeping her memory alive and normalizing a sad situation so his kid wouldn’t suffer. James wasn’t sure why telling his daughter that she had been so very much loved by her dead parent was worthy of being praised, but as a single dad in the ‘70s, he took whatever kind words he could get. He made sure that Dottie understood she had a Mom, that she didn’t suddenly appear from thin air one day to change James’ life forever, that she’d been wanted and dreamed of by both parents. Margaret’s face was in countless pictures around their home, they stayed in her old bedroom whenever they visited her side of the family in Pennsylvania, they talked about what she’d say or what she’d do at all times. Margaret Burke was a constant presence in their lives despite her untimely death, and the fact that they celebrated that every day except during Mother’s Day didn’t feel right to her daughter.

That’s how Dottie found herself establishing little traditions that were still in place that Sunday afternoon when she opened her front door to find one of her best friends holding a small bouquet tied together with a big silver ribbon. Dressed in an all-black ensemble as he usually did, the lilac and white flowers sprinkled with greenery were the only pop of color in the foggy drizzly afternoon. Eddie was smiling wide despite the ugly weather, his dimples perfectly on display for the world to appreciate.

“Hey! This is for you,” Eddie thrust the flowers forward. “Actually, they are for your Mom but… yeah.”

“You bought my Mom flowers?” Dottie said, disbelief present in her tone as her fingers brushed against his chunky rings when she accepted the bouquet, skin bristling at the contact.

“Yeah, you like ‘em? The purple ones are rosemary and the white ones are, uh, bellflowers? The lady at the shop said there are, like, a million white flowers that look like bells so I picked the prettiest ones,” he dropped his backpack on the armchair in the living room and followed her to the kitchen.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did you pick these?”

“Well, I kinda… borrowed your flower book?” he admitted, leaning on the kitchen island to watch her fill a glass vase and start arranging the flowers. “The one you and Jeff were talking about at lunch? It’s in my bag.”

“Wait, what? When did you grab it? I didn’t even notice it was gone.”

“Yesterday, when you left me alone in your room to go get snacks. D’you have any more of those strawberries? They were so good.”

“Yes, but you can’t eat them. We need them for the cake,” Dottie cut a few long stems until she was happy with how her vase looked and tied the silver ribbon that the bouquet had been bound with around the glass. “So if you stole my book, what do these mean?”

“I didn’t steal it, I was gonna give it back!” he said, faking being offended at her accusation before he dropped the act and stared down at his hands. “The, um- the rosemary is remembrance. The bell flowers are gratitude.”

“Gratitude? For my Mom?” she searched for his eyes with her own but he kept looking at his rings.

“Just wanted to thank her, y’know,” he looked up at her after a pause. “For giving me you.”

“Shit, Ed, you can’t say things like that without a warning, you’re gonna make me cry!” she fanned her face with her hand, voice playful but eyes full of very real tears. “Thank you, you’re… thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” he smiled shyly, reaching across the island to grab a flower out of the vase and bump her nose with it.

She giggled, taking the long stem from his fingers and setting it behind her right ear before turning around towards the counter where baking supplies were neatly laid out. She picked up two envelopes: one was the now familiar soft pink rectangle she had been carrying in her backpack all week but the other one was unassuming plain white. She slid the white one across the ceramic countertop; Eddie opened it to find a Garfield themed Mother’s Day card, the orange cat grinning on the front of the glossy paper. A pen entered his line of vision and he looked up to see Dottie nervously staring at him.

“I got you your own card,” she explained, clicking the pen and offering it to him. “Thought maybe you’d like to join my little ritual later.”

“Ritual?”

“I write down the things I want to say to my Mom and then I burn the card. It’s dumb, you know I don’t really believe in, like, the afterlife or whatever but… Dunno. Feels like the words reach her if I burn it.”

“No, I get it,” he reassured her. “So I can write whatever I want?”

“Yeah! I mostly just update mine on how everything’s going. About my Dad, and school, stuff like that. Like leaving a message on her answering machine.”

“Okay, I can do that,” he smiled. “I’ll join your ritual.”

“Yeah? Okay, cool! I’ll… I’ll get started on the cake while you do that then.”

Happy to have a task to focus on instead of staring at him for an hour, Dottie opened a bottom drawer and took out a dark green apron with a tiny lemon pattern, quickly tying it behind her back with a thin bow. Eddie watched her move around her kitchen with ease, measuring ingredients and lining up a cake pan with parchment paper like she’d done it a thousand times. He supposed she’d had; kids with hard childhoods always knew their way around ovens and knives. It was simply a matter of survival: sometimes you were hungry and there weren’t any adults around even if the grownups in your life weren’t neglectful, like Wayne or James. Eddie looked down at Garfield’s large face printed on the paper and began spilling everything that was rattling inside his brain through his pen. He wrote, and wrote, and wrote until the left side of the opened card was full and had no more space to write on, so he continued writing on the backside.

He told his Mom about Wayne while Dottie mixed flour, cornstarch, baking powder, and salt. He promised her he’d graduate this year while hearing the sounds of two eggs being cracked, the overwhelming sweetness of vanilla extract filling the air. He confided that he didn’t feel as lonely as before anymore, that he thought he finally had great friends, a club that looked up to him, a band that made him proud. He asked her not to worry about him anymore when Dottie poured the batter into a round pan and offered him the spoon to lick. And thus, Eddie wrote to her Mom about the girl he had a growing crush on, how he felt like he didn’t have to hide anything from her because she understood him in ways that other people had never understood, and how desperately he hoped she would look at him in the same way he saw her. If he had lifted his head up when he was putting the card back into the envelope, he would have seen Dottie sneaking glances at him while she cut strawberries and realized that he didn’t have to hope for anything anymore; Dottie already looked at him with stars in her eyes even if he didn’t think he was worthy of it yet.

With the cake baking in the oven for the next 30 minutes, all the strawberries cut in half, and the homemade jam finishing its 48 hour setting period in the fridge, both teens sat down on cushy stools at the kitchen island to finish the half-done homework they had abandoned on Saturday after it got dark. They could hear James pottering about upstairs, cleaning the bathroom while listening to the radio. He was singing along to West End Girls by the Pet Shop Boys - “the latest #1 on the Billboard Hot 100” the announcer had said. James didn’t really like the Pet Shop Boys, but he had heard it so much on the radio during the last couple of months that he couldn’t be blamed for knowing the lyrics by heart at that point.

“You done?” Eddie asked, gathering his stuff and shoving everything into his backpack.

“Yeah- yeah, I’m done,” Dottie said, moving to clear her stuff too. “Cake should be done in five, I think.”

“What’s next?”

“Wanna whip the cream while I do the glaze?”

“Sure. You’re gonna have to guide me though,” his face lit up in a mischievous smile. “And I’m gonna need one of those cute little aprons you’ve been hiding from me too.”

“You get plain dark blue,” she said, going through the drawer. “Or… I can offer you a “Kiss the Cook” apron with a big red heart on it?”

“Princess, you already know which one I want,” he batted his eyelashes at her. “Besides, it matches my scrunchie!”

Dottie tried to contain her giggles with no success when he tied his hair up into a bun with the red scrunchie that had found permanent residence in the depths of her empty fruit bowl, twirling around to show off his new hairdo. He bowed his head so she could slip the apron around his neck, leaving the tying up to him and fetching the ingredients for their next tasks. She separated them into two small piles, his ingredients to the right, hers to the left.

“To make whipped cream you put heavy cream in this,” she slid a bowl in front of him. “And you use the mixer to whisk it until it gets a bit bubbly. Then, you add the sugar and the vanilla extract, and you mix until it’s not runny anymore.”

“How much of everything?” he asked, pushing his sleeves to his elbows.

“One tablespoon of sugar and one teaspoon of vanilla extract.”

“The tablespoon is the big one, right?”

“Yes, chef,” she said, juicing a lemon for her glaze.

They worked together in relative silence, the loud sounds of the mixer drowning any words they could say. Eddie found out that he could draw on the cream when it got a bit more stiff, and quickly proceeded to spend the next few minutes drawing penis shape after penis shape into the mixture. He thought it was hilarious until Dottie unplugged the electric appliance, shaking her head at his antics. He got the cake out of the oven while she finished up her glaze, concentrating on not burning her concoction heating up on the stovetop.

“Do you always bake a cake for Mother’s Day?”

“Pretty much, yeah. It was my Mom’s favorite cake, it’s her recipe, so... Dunno, it feels nice. And I get to eat cake in the end so everything works out.”

“Y’know, I don’t think I’ve seen anyone make lemon glaze since I lived with my Grandma for three months,” he said, fanning the cake with a takeaway menu to cool it down.

“That sounds fun. How old were you?”

“Eight. Stayed with her the whole summer. She made awful lemon bars, I mean that shit tasted like fuckin’ cardboard,” Dottie snorted at his horrified expression. “But she made the best apple pie I’ve ever had. I think I gained like 10 pounds that summer.”

“Just from apple pie?” she asked, adding the last bit of the lemon juice to the pot.

“And ice cream,” he smiled. “Best summer of my life.”

“Eddie?” she said softly. “Can I ask you something kind of personal?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“How old were you when you moved in with Wayne?”

“After that summer. Actually,” he snorted bitterly. “The only reason I got to stay with my Grandma all those months was because my Dad got himself locked up and didn’t think it was important to mention he had a kid.”

“What?”

“They found out I existed when the school year started. A teacher asked me about my summer and called Social Services. When they came to see me, they said my Grandma was too old to raise me, so Wayne asked for custody. Been living with him since then.”

“What happened to your Dad?” she turned off the heat and turned to look at him.

“He’s still in prison. Won’t get out until I’m in my thirties as far as I know. He’s an asshole so… I don’t really care about him, and Wayne doesn’t either. Never went to visit him. Shit, I don’t think he even knows where they’ve got him, and that’s his little brother.”

“I mean, you just said he was an asshole so…”

“Yeah, I did,” he let out a wry chuckle.

“What’s his name? It isn’t Edward, right?”

“No, my Mom chose Edward. His name’s Wyatt.”

“Ah, that sucks,” she shook her head, moving past him to cut the cake in half to start assembling. He looked at her questioningly. “Wayne and Wyatt? ‘Cause you like alliteration?”

“Doesn’t ruin it for me. Actually, you might like this - you know what other two names start with the same letter?” he leaned onto the counter next to her. She was still wearing a sprig of rosemary in her hair.

“Bilbo and Baggins?” she joked.

“Maureen and Margaret.”

Dottie stopped cutting, knife halfway into the soft vanilla sponge, and stared at him. Eddie was looking at the two envelopes laying side by side next to the flower vase, right hand twirling the rings on his left hand. She remembered a conversation she’d had with Ms. Kelly early on in February after the excitement of being the new kid had died down and everyone had forgotten about her, going back to their cliques and usual groups of friends without sparing a single glance at her. If you want others to open up to you, you have to be open with them too, Ms. Kelly had said, in that gentle voice she always talked to troubled students with.

As much as Eddie wore his heart on his sleeve, he wasn’t keen on talking about his past. He rarely offered up pieces of important information about his childhood, choosing to only share the inconsequential parts instead. Everything else was locked up tight in his chest, just like Dottie did with her deepest memories. She wondered if the reason he was being candid with her now was because she’d let him peek behind her curtains first on Friday night at Lover’s Lake. A key exchanged for a key.

“Your mom’s name was Maureen?” Dottie asked, resuming her cutting.

“Yeah. Wayne says everyone called her Mo.”

“That’s a pretty name,” she smiled. “Mo and Maggie. Maybe they would’ve been friends.”

“Yeah. That would’ve been nice. We could have introduced them.”

“I don’t know if I’d be in Hawkins if my Mom was still here, though,” she said, sliding a big spatula under the first layer of cake to move it to a different plate. “Don’t think we would have moved out of New York.”

“Dunno if I’d be here either,” Eddie admitted, watching her spread the whipped cream he had made on the cake. “My Mom wasn’t from Hawkins. I don’t really know where she was from, I asked but Wayne doesn’t know either so… Said she didn’t like talking about it ‘cause her parents kicked her out when they found out she was pregnant.”

“That’s actually so wretched.”

“I know, right? Like, I know my Dad was always a fucking asshole but it wasn’t her fault, she was barely 17.”

“How did she meet your Dad then? If she wasn’t from Hawkins.”

“As far as I know, she worked at a diner my Dad stopped at on his route. Wayne got him a job as a trucker when he turned 18. So he met my Mom there, dated her for like, three months at the most, and then I showed up to ruin everything,” Dottie scoffed at him but he continued. “She dropped out of high school, he brought her to Hawkins and I was born here. They got married when she turned 18 a few months later. Actually, my Grandma kinda forced them to get married. She really liked my Mom and didn’t want people to treat her like shit ‘cause she had a bastard child.”

“God, people sucked back then.”

“It was the ‘60s, The Beatles were the biggest band in the world, everything sucked back then.”

“Say that again and I’ll kill you in your sleep,” she deadpanned and he let out a huge snort, enjoying how easy it was to rile her up. “You were saying, though.”

“Nah, it’s just… If they were married, it didn’t look like I was an unhappy accident, y’know?” Eddie got a bit more serious. “Anyway, Wyatt didn’t really want to be a dad. He would get in his truck and leave for days, and then when he came back he treated my Mom like shit. I don’t remember much but my Grandma told me once that he used to hit her a lot. I mean, I was his own personal punching bag so that shouldn’t surprise me as much as it does but still.”

“Jesus Christ,” she breathed out.

“It’s been ages since I’ve seen him and my Mom died when I was three, that’s why I don’t really remember anything,” he said, but he did. He remembered everything about Wyatt Munson; every hit, every insult, every scream. He cleared his throat. “After that, my Dad quit his job and started working at Brimborn before it closed down.”

“Brimborn… That’s the abandoned warehouse on Cherry Lane, right?”

“Cherry Oak Drive.”

“There’s like three different roads with “cherry” in their names in Hawkins, it’s so dumb.”

“Nobody said we were very original around here,” he chuckled.

Dottie moved around the kitchen to go find the strawberry jam she’d made a few days prior and found him still staring at the cards when she turned. He wasn’t crying at the memories, he didn’t even look sad. Just… resigned. Like he’d gotten used to things being shit all the time so it was a waste of time to get upset about them anymore. She left the jar on the counter and wrapped her arms around Eddie’s waist, her chest colliding with his back, her face buried between his shoulder blades.

“I’m so happy Wayne was there for you. He’s a great man.”

“Yeah,” he said, voice uncharacteristically soft, hands curling around hers. “Sometimes… sometimes I used to wish he was my real Dad, y’know?”

“He is.”

They stayed like that in the middle of Dottie’s kitchen, a million different things running through their heads: the dead mothers that shared the first letter of their names, the men that had raised them, and the people who had cared for them along the way. There was love to be found here in this kitchen, they both knew it. Only time would tell what it could turn into - what it would turn into - but for now, this friendship that only seemed to grow stronger every day was more than they had dreamed of when they first met in that dark props room thanks to the one and only Dustin Henderson. Maybe a Thank You note was in order.

Eddie thought it was very fitting that there wasn’t a bit of sunshine to be found as they stepped out into the backyard to begin what Dottie kept calling her “little ritual”. He held their envelopes carefully, one on each hand, while he watched her shove bits of craft paper and small branches into an empty bucket of paint, a box of matches resting on the floor next to her sneakers. She grabbed one and lit it on fire, throwing it into the can that had been scrubbed clean of any traces of paint ages ago and was now used as a regular bucket of water to douse the embers whenever James felt like using the grill. Wordlessly, she took her envelope from him and knelt in front of the can with her eyes closed, pressing the paper to her chest for a few seconds before lifting it up to her lips for a quick kiss, letting it fall onto the flames. She watched how the fire consumed her written words for a moment and went back to stand next to her friend.

She didn’t give him any indications as to what to do, simply choosing to let her hands fall in front of her, right hand twirling the ring on her left middle finger, eyes never leaving the flames. Eddie took her solemn silence as permission to approach the metallic can, kneeling on one knee and dropping his card inside. It was a strange feeling, he reckoned, to be sharing such an intimate and private moment with Dottie, and yet knowing that his words would never be read by her or any other person. Whatever he’d said in his letter was between him and the wind that he hoped would reach his Mom’s ears. I guess that’s the point of the ritual, he thought, moving back to his spot next to the pensive girl.

“It’s my fault,” she mumbled, gaze still stuck to the orange dancing in front of them and yet so far away from what she was actually seeing. “It’s my fault she’s dead.”

He turned to look at her, eyebrows meeting in the middle. Eddie had never seen her look so defeated. He wondered how he’d never noticed it before: the weight of the guilt she was carrying on her shoulders, the deep seated shame in the pit of her stomach that felt all too familiar to him, the vacant space within her eyes. It was like looking into a mirror that he’d been trying to ignore for so long. He reached out to her, his right hand wrapping around her left, rings brushing against each other’s, and squeezed tightly.

“She knew she was sick while she was pregnant and delayed her treatment for me. I killed her.”

“Dot, you know that’s not right.”

“Isn’t it? She knew it was me or her, and she chose me,” she held on tighter to his hand. “Sometimes… god, sometimes I wish she’d chosen herself instead. And it’s not that I want to be dead, I swear it’s not about that, but… it wasn’t fair. Not to her, not to my Dad. And it wasn’t fair to me either.”

“It’s my fault my Mom’s dead,” Eddie said, moving his fingers to intertwine with hers. She turned to him, both sets of wet brown eyes finding each others’ in the backyard. “It was the last day of preschool before the Winter holidays and I wanted pizza, so she went out to go get it. A drunk guy ran her over. She never saw it coming. My Dad wasn’t even in town. She died alone on the side of the road and with a fucking 2x1 pizza coupon in her coat pocket.”

“Eddie, you couldn’t have known. That wasn’t your fault-”

“It wasn’t yours either but you’re still gonna blame yourself for the rest of your life, aren’t you?” his lower lip trembled and they both squeezed tighter. The skin stretching over their knuckles was as white as the bellflowers in the kitchen. “They were adults, they made their own choices but you’re always gonna think about what you could have done differently, even if you didn’t know how to wipe your own ass yet.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” she insisted. “That drunk asshole should be to blame, not you.”

“It wasn’t your fault either,” he said, matching her intensity. “You didn’t make her sick, that just happens sometimes and it’s no one’s fault.”

“It is! It’s my fault she didn’t get the treatment she should have gotten!”

“And it’s my fault my Mom was out there that night because I wanted pizza,” he lifted the hand that wasn’t holding onto hers and cupped the side of her face, thumb brushing away an angry tear. “If you’re not gonna stop blaming yourself, then I won’t stop either. You can’t have it both ways, Dot. Either we both move on, or we stay here together because fuck if I know who else to talk about this shit with.”

“It’s not fair,” she pouted, head falling forward until it hit his chest, his hand sliding into her hair.

“No, it’s not,” he agreed, taking a deep breath.

There was nothing else to be said, nothing left to clarify or explain. There were no words to soothe the pain, because it was so embedded into who they were as people that no amount of comfort would ever patch up the wounds that had healed badly and left deep scars that would never completely disappear. Margaret and Maureen were no longer there, and Eddie and Dottie had to move on. They weren’t sure how, and by God if they hadn’t tried  to do so all these years, but it felt a lot easier to forgive yourself when someone else was walking down that road with you.

Dottie sobbed quietly against Eddie’s chest, head bowed with his right hand tangling into her curls, cupping the back of her head. Eddie let his own tears fall, his cheek pressed onto her crown, thumb brushing the exposed skin behind her ear. In the silence filled with paper and wood crackling inside the paint bucket, they thought about how much they longed for something they couldn’t even remember having, and how their rusty padlocks were starting to fall limp at their feet. How even when their brains were miles away from their bodies, they still anchored each other down, hearts beating in sync and hands holding hands, Eddie’s thick mood ring on his right hand clashing against Dottie’s only dainty band; her Mom’s engagement ring glinting on her left middle finger.

Suddenly, she startled him by laughing softly through her tears, bringing their joined hands between their chests. He peered at her face curiously, waiting for her to speak.

“She would have fucking loved you,” she said, looking up at him with a big smile and shining eyes.

“Yeah?” he smiled back.

“I told my Auntie Rachel about you, and she said that she wants to meet you. That you remind her of my Mom.”

“I do?”

“It’s because she was the glue. She was the one that introduced everyone in the group, they are all friends because of her. And that’s what you do for us with Hellfire. You’re our glue.”

“You know,” he stopped his sentence to chuckle. “Wayne said something like that about you too.”

“Yeah?”

“He said that you boss me around like my Mom did with him,” he laughed. “And that you always tidy up his coffee table like she did.”

“That’s so embarrassing,” she laughed with him.

“I think Wayne likes you more than he likes me,” he whispered conspiratorially. “But I know my Mom would have loved you too.”

“Eddie? If I wanted to get a tattoo to honor my Mom-”

“I’m taking you to get it when you turn 21. It’ll be your birthday present, I promise. Just… wait until you’re 21 so I can take you to a nice shop, because mine look really awesome but it’s honestly a miracle I’m not dead,” she snorted loudly. “I’m serious! I don’t think the guy washed his hands since he came back from Vietnam.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll wait. But you gotta promise we’ll still be friends in three years.”

“Oh, princess, I’m a ride or die. No getting rid of me now, sorry.”

“Good. Didn’t want to get rid of you anyways.”

While Dottie was inside setting up the TV to watch The Wizard of Oz, Eddie excused himself to the backyard for a smoke. He ran through everything that had happened between them that week, starting with their argument about his moldy ceiling all the way until the last ten minutes when she was still buried in his arms. Being vulnerable wasn’t something that came easy to Eddie; he was way too used to covering everything up in leather and sarcasm, but now that he’d started shedding the layers, it was surprisingly liberating to keep going, especially when he kept being rewarded by Dottie letting down her barriers too. He was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn’t realize James had slipped out into the backyard too and was walking towards him, glancing at the pile of ashes at the bottom of the metallic can.

“She got you to join her ritual?” James asked, coming to a stop next to the younger man who was smoking under the patio roof.

“It was interesting. I enjoyed it,” he said, the right corner of his lips twitching upwards into a soft smile. He offered his pack of cigs to James, who shook his head, hands in his pockets.

“No, thank you. Haven’t smoked in years.”

“I should probably stop smoking but it’s hard when my Uncle does it too.”

“I know what you mean, my parents are smokers,” James said, nodding. “I only stopped because Maggie got pregnant and she hated the smell on my clothes. Said it made her want to throw up.”

“Dot hates it too,” Eddie chuckled. “She’s always wrinkling her nose when we smoke near her.”

“She does it to my mother too, don’t take it personal.”

Eddie didn’t really know what else to say so he stayed quiet, busying himself with his cigarette. He knew Dottie hated the fact that he and Donny smoked, but despite that, she’d never told them to not do it. Instead, she moved around them to stand next to Gareth or Jeff, away from the wind that blew the smoke into her space until they were done indulging in their vices. She had never complained about the smell either; the only time they’d heard her say anything negative about it was when she said that her Grandma liked smoking inside her kitchen while sitting next to an opened window and that the smoke made her cough, so Eddie tried not to smoke in the van when he was driving her around. He tapped the butt to the sole of his boot and saved it in the little cardboard box, fully intending on throwing it in the trash when he came back inside when James cleared his throat.

“Eddie, do you mind if we have a talk? Man to man,” he said, his tone friendly but firm.

“Y-yeah, of course. Is there a problem, sir?” Eddie’s palms were sweating. He had seen this coming but didn’t think it would happen so soon.

“No, actually I wanted to thank you,” James began. “Dottie told me what you did for her on Friday, that was… very thoughtful of you.”

“Oh,” he was surprised. “I… You don’t have to thank me. I don’t know if she told you but… I haven’t been a very good friend lately and I wanted to apologize to her. That’s all.”

“Well, either way, thank you. Proms and school dances are… a touchy subject for her, you know? Not a lot of good memories. Just- thank you for making her senior prom special.”

“Of course,” Eddie said, scratching the skin under his watch. “We’ll make sure she has a good prom. And if- if you want us to bring her back at, like, a certain hour, we- we can totally do that too. We’ll look out for her.”

“I know,” the older man smiled at him, noticing how nervous he looked. Eddie might be almost 20 but he was still a little boy trying to impress the father of the girl he liked; James supposed he’d looked the same when he’d started dating Maggie. “You’re good kids, all of you. And Dottie’s never really had good friends before so… if she’s happy, I’m happy.”

“I’m glad. That’s she’s happy, I mean,” he hurried to say. “Not that she had bad friends before. That part sucks, she’s… she’s great and I’m glad I- glad we got to meet her and… stuff.”

“You all mean a lot to her, but you… You’re very important to her. You know that, don’t you, Eddie?” James said, and Eddie felt very much like he was being tested.

“She’s important to me too, sir.”

James smiled, satisfied with the boy’s answer. He understood now the glee his father-in-law felt whenever he made him squirm, it was very enjoyable. It was in good faith though, Roger had never outright disrespected him, and James didn’t intend on doing it to Eddie either, but he supposed it was his God given right to mess with the kid a little bit as the father of a teenage daughter. Maybe one day Eddie would understand it too.

“Everything alright?” Dottie said, popping her head out of the kitchen backdoor and looking at the two men standing on the grass with curiosity.

“Yeah, just two guys having a manly talk. You know, about sports and stuff,” James said.

“You only watch sports when the Olympics are on.”

“I also watch the Super Bowl,” he argued.

“You never watch the rest of the season, what’s the point?”

“It’s fun,” he said, turning to Eddie. “Right, Ed?”

“Only reason I watch is because Wayne makes the best spicy wings in Hawkins,” he grinned. “Sorry, sir.”

“You two are missing out,” James shook his head, jesting. “Gonna watch The Wizard of Oz?”

“Yeah, wanna join?”

“Nah, I’m gonna go lay down for a bit. I’ll take a piece of cake though.”

Later that day, when they were hanging out on the couch stuffing their faces full with vanilla sponge and strawberry jam while watching Judy Garland and her merry gang of new friends walk down the yellow brick road, Dottie eyed Eddie suspiciously until he turned to her, whipped cream staining his upper lip.

“Okay, spill.”

“Wha’?” he asked, cheeks full of cake.

“What were you and my Dad talking about outside?”

“Manly stuff,” he swallowed quickly. “Can’t tell you. If you knew, I’d have to kill you, it’s the law.”

“You’re such an idiot,” she giggled, stealing a strawberry from his plate.

He gasped in horror but still let her do it, because she was important to him and he’d do anything to keep that smile on her face, including tearing down the walls he’d carefully built around himself all throughout his life. And hopefully, by shedding that weight, she’d be able to get rid of hers too, and Mo and Maggie could be proud of them for finally moving on.

taglist (comment below or shoot me a dm if you want to be added!): @munsonology @kurdtbean

[dogyip]

ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS ; An excerpt where Yvonne and Judd have a little dance — 2.4k words

When she arrived, it wasn’t with the intention to stay. Judd was simply a woman of her word and somehow, during the three weekends they spent together, she had found herself promising Yvonne that she’d attend the ball exclusively to check in on her briefly and offer any corrections if they were deemed necessary (they would be). She even dressed in attire that didn’t snub the dress code—dark slacks, white button-down, and dark suit jacket she’d nicked from Logan after the maid had dried it and it shrunk enough to fit her—but that did not say she was an attendee, which she wasn’t.

Not formally, at least. 

This worried Yvonne and made her look even a bit regretful as if Judd was particularly concerned about being on the guest list so that she’d be accounted for some crab cake or grape-sized dessert, but she wasn’t the slightest bit miffed. It took a bit of finessing but there was a way to crash a party tastefully. If you held yourself in the right manner, there was a way to do anything tastefully, truthfully. 

So, she navigated the mansion masquerading as a ballroom which stunk heavily of Clive Christian colognes - Addictive Arts collection, no other collection utilized tobacco and the smoky, herbal concoction of mate quite so bluntly - and the odd Frederic Malle Promise she respected because the earthy, apple spice burn in her nose was still less offensive than feeling like she was huffing the air around a cheap ashtray. Judd haphazardly scanned the crowd of tailored suits around the rarer pale dresses dotted about before turning her focus away from finding the reason she was here and on finding the host instead—Yvonne’s grandmother. To find the host first indicated a level of respect you held for the event that would often allow you to stay despite your arrival being quite crude. 

Yvonne’s grandmother could be considered quite textbook for this forgiveness for the moment she laid eyes on Judd, she hurried over like a fuming bull with so little grace it seemed a contradiction to the tight-fitting black dress and hair that looked artificially shiny with whatever product was keeping the volume alive. “You. You. What is this?”

Feigning a bit of remorse as her clothes were subtly gestured at, Judd offered an impish smile she knew looked no better than a dog’s appeasement. “I am so sorry… Mrs. Loomis is it? You might know me, Judd Woodward?” she squared her shoulders and let the name sink in as the music slowly shifted tracks—classical waltz to classical waltz but a little faster. “I was helping your granddaughter, Yvone, with her dancing. I wanted to just come and make sure my lessons were useful.”

Their personal quiet stretched on far too long for this to be a polite pause, and Yvone’s grandmother was quite short, Judd had to bow her torso awkwardly to hear what she said next. “She hasn’t mentioned a Judd, in fact, she hasn’t mentioned she knows a Woodward at all. You know, my husband used to do business with your grandfather, the insurer one,” A small hand grabbed her forearm and tugged her along lightly, encouraging her to follow; but suddenly she didn’t want to abide, she wanted to dig her heels in and jut out her chin and say no, fuck you, what do you mean you don’t know me? She should’ve, right? Why did it matter at all that she didn’t? 

If she had any reason to follow, it was so she knew why to never fucking help Yvonne again. 

“Now,” she said, with Judd trailing behind her without assistance. “I can’t show you where she is, I fear she was whisked off not long before you arrived, but you can help me with something until she pops up again.”

Something she’d learn was standing off in the corner and telling Yvonne’s grandmother which boys had the most potential - from a peer’s perspective - which was mildly cathartic for a little while, telling someone that John Quintero stole his neighbor’s car but everyone said it was his friend, Louis Gredwell (not in attendance tonight). A little while would be the key phrase, though. 

Judd lingered for an hour, ten minutes, and thirty-two seconds, and with every passing second she grew more discontent and sore in the chest from the breathing regulations she was unabashedly abusing. She was stupid for ever coming. For ever saying she would. For ever folding to Yvonne and agreeing to help. Yvonne was clearly doing just fine without her, so fine, in fact, she could entirely forget that she asked Judd to come. Quietly dismissing herself, she slipped away, skirting the edge of the room with her eyes set on the corridor, until she passed the ornate glass doors in the living room, noticing the shrubbery outside that formed a little alcove in the backyard, the fountain spitting up a stream of water, the—

—the who?

She stepped backward, shooting a look over her shoulder to make sure no one else took note, and then opened one of the doors, slipping outside into the crisp spring air and shivering against it with a sharp breath. Yvonne looked up at her from where she sat on a little concrete bench, her dress was the only purely white one here, it ruffled out around her knees, making her look a bit more like one of those wedding cake toppers than anything else, but it… worked, Judd thought, was bold against her dark skin and left the eyes wandering to hers. 

“You came?” Yvonne sat up a little, voice brightening. “Hi… Hi.”

“Hey,” she said, closing the door behind her and moving closer, a gradual step that had her rounding the fountain at an agonizing pace. “From the way your grandmother talked, it sounded like some real charming fella hauled you off somewhere to have you all to himself.” Yvonne groaned a real guttural sound that lightened the weight between Judd’s lungs in a way that had her wincing away from herself and hesitating to take a seat beside her until standing was simply too awkward. “I take it either she’s too presumptuous or you hit him with your Little Women adaptation concept.”

Another groan. 

“Nobody cares for musical adaptations, I’ve told you that. Look, now you’ve learned the hard way.”

Yvonne shook her head, propping an elbow up on her thigh and resting her cheek in the palm of her hand. “You have to have a conversation with someone to learn something the hard way,” she said. “Every boy I’ve talked to tonight has either tried flirting with me by talking about his car, not known how to say my name, or could barely even dance without stepping on me… but I am giving them leeway there, maybe they were too busy figuring out their sale’s pitches to remember how their feet work.”

Oh. So Judd had been right—Yvonne’s grandparents only knew people with the two-bit sons.

She didn’t delight in being correct like she thought she should have, as if it’d been replaced by the frustration boiling in her guts because she had been right. Yvonne was subjected to the individuals skimmed from social circles like fat from broth all the while her grandmother was prancing around as if she’d done anything worth the peacocking. She didn’t even know Yvonne was out here, so disconnected from the ball that it was hardly hers now so much as it was a venture in matchmaking for their classmates. 

“Oh.”

“Oh.”

They sat like that for a while, occasionally sparing glances through the door. Judd should’ve left by now but here she was, brows pinched and lips shaping a slack frown, doe-eyed stealing looks at Yvonne as long as she could before quickly looking away. 

“So you haven’t had a proper dance tonight?”

“Nope,” Yvonne dropped her hand, shoulders sagging. “But I did get a nice icebreaker that involves a Volvo.”

“Is it good?”

Laughing, she shook her head. “Oh, not even close, relies entirely on shock factor.” She said, her laugh petering out with the coming breaths, light and short. The sort of cut-off-too-early short that Judd knew well as a tactic to stop imminent tears. Fuck. “I didn’t have high expectations for tonight but… I don’t know, I think I let myself think this would be nice. Isn’t that stupid? I thought all of this could have been nice.”

“Nice was a bit of an unrealistic expectation.”

“Right, I forget you’re above these sorts of things.”

“You should be seen by a professional, your memory retention is concerning to the point of being diagnosable.”

Yvonne scoffed.

And then Judd, after another minute and a half, ran her hands down her thighs, stood up, and turned to face Yvonne with an air of resolve. “Your night should be decent, at least, though,” she offered her left hand. “Which means you need a proper dance.”

“Wait, what?”

“I was hoping you’d be able to interpret context clues,” she said, lacking the smile she knew was customary for such a question but with the faintest lilt to her voice that was wholly used to indicate a tease that fell a little flatter than she wanted but didn’t know how to correct. “Would you like to dance?”

Yvonne blinked, rubbing once at her eyes, and took to acceptance of this far faster than anticipated. She placed her hand in Judd’s and allowed herself to be guided toward the fountain where her heels clicked against the cobbled ground. In a way, it wasn’t unlike their lessons as Yvonne took immediately to following her lead with the box step pertinent to a decent waltz—except that this wasn’t any decent waltz. It devolved almost as soon as it started. A waltz morphed into the horrible love child of a two-step and nameless slow dance reserved for an event less formal than a ball. Judd thought it to be tasteless, failing the intention of a proper dance, but she chose to say nothing after considering it. 

Dark eyes traced her face as Judd’s wandered the satiated expression carefully shaping the crinkling around Yvonne’s mouth, the dimples faintly accentuated by a smile half-allowed. The cold air kept them closer than necessary and a simple lack of knowledge found Yvonne’s arm resting along Judd’s shoulders which, in turn, forced her to let her arm travel further up the other’s back in an almost hug. Their free hands wandered, fingers interlacing after a confusing, quiet decision for Judd as she wondered whether or not that was too far, or - if they were found - if it could be excused as another lesson.

To say she was thinking clearly would be a lie, however, as a Judd with all her synapses firing at the same time would have thought better of this ultimately. But she didn’t—couldn’t. 

Her heart hammered violently at her ribcage, so forcefully, so loudly, that she felt it thumping in her throat. Could Yvonne hear? Could she feel it tapping against her? She hated this feeling. This anticipation of … something? Was that it? Was her body waiting on someone to walk through the door and catch them?

Catch them? Surely not. This wasn’t any more offensive than their lessons but, shit, maybe they shouldn’t—

“Thank you,” Yvonne said, earning an inglorious huh? she snorted at. “Thank you for coming, part of me didn’t think you would so seeing you was, uh, nice.”

Judd wondered what to say. You’re welcome would be appropriate. It was the only answer, really, but that’d be too short and her heart wasn’t slowing down at all, if anything she could’ve sworn it was quickening with every touch her mind and body registered as notably Yvonne. “I lied,” she said suddenly and felt a jolt against her. “About what I said about my parents, you know…” Her voice waned, hushed. “...them choosing not to host a debutante ball because of some kind of inherent respect they held for me. That wasn’t true.”

Yvonne slowed her step a little. They didn’t have much of a height difference, Judd had maybe three inches on her with the right shoes, but it was enough now to still have her look up, curiosity struck. “Why didn’t they?”

A stupid question she preferred over the stupid question of asking her why she lied.  

“Uhm, well,” she drew out that last word, trying to figure out how to remove speculation from fact yet failing to because speculation, in this case, was as good as fact. She had seventeen years of reference material. “They were embarrassed, I think.”

“About what?”

“Having a daughter.”

Yvonne made a noise that sounded equal parts sad and confused. The lack of subsequent questioning said all she needed to know.

“I mean, you’ve seen the work your grandparents put into this all so they could socially say hey, this is our granddaughter, isn’t she just so pretty and not to mention single?” There was a quiet hush she grinned at despite it fading quickly. “My parents saw it as them parading around the fact they had a daughter and, oh, they didn’t want to do that. It’s already difficult enough having one, why would they want to tell everyone about that egregious hardship?” She swallowed hard, relieved when Yvonne’s gaze dropped, and laid her head against Judd’s chest, a sudden warmth that she welcomed as much as the unintentional favor that not looking at her was. “You’re right, these things aren’t my style but when I was sixteen I really thought the whole idea of someone caring enough to show you off was pretty pleasant.”

“I’m sorry,” Yvonne admitted after a pause. “No offense but your parents sound like they suck.”

“It’s alright, really, I should’ve known better when I was forming in utero.”

The sound of music was little less than murmuring from some piano all the way out here but it provided enough rhythm for them both to abide in their half-dance, half-hold. Not another word was spoken between them. At least, not until Judd heard the click of a car door shutting somewhere in the front yard. 

“What are you going to tell your grandmother when she asks who you’ve been with all this time? I’d suggest telling her you were actually briefly kidnapped so she feels some level of negligence weigh on her.”

Yvonne hummed her contemplation well enough that Judd felt it through her chest. “I think I’ll tell her I was with you.”

“Do you really think she’d appreciate that? Right now she thinks tonight was a success.”

“It’s okay if she doesn’t,” she said, lightly squeezing Judd’s hand. “I think it was, mostly.”

[phoenix-downer]

Spring Birthday

After Sora’s return, Naminé’s friends celebrate her birthday with her. While her early days were lonely, her life is very different now, and she treasures each new memory with the people dear to her heart.

~1650 words. Post-Kingdom Hearts III and Melody of Memory. Gen, Friendship, Fluff. Naminé POV. Written for @naminezine​, and the banner art is by the lovely @somniumars​.

“Naminé, when is your birthday?” Kairi asked over breakfast one day, scones with jam and clotted cream, served with a hot cup of tea for both of them. They liked to visit this cafe together at least once a month. It had outdoor seating, and the weather was finally warm enough again for them to sit outside with light jackets. 

Naminé stopped buttering her scone for a moment and frowned. It was a simple enough question, and yet she found herself unsure of what to say. 

“Well, I suppose it was the day Sora released his heart to save you,” she said at last. “But as glad as I am to be alive, it feels strange to celebrate that day, considering what happened.” 

“I understand,” Kairi said softly. “Are there any other days you can think of?”

Naminé paused once more and thought as Kairi sipped some more of her tea. The only other day she could really think of was… 

“The day of my rebirth. It was spring on Radiant Garden. The sun was shining, the flowers were blooming, and the weather was perfect.” She sighed happily at the memory. “I’ll never forget what it felt like to walk outside for the first time in a body of my own.”

“Then why don’t we make that your birthday? I know we technically missed it last year, when we were all searching for Sora, but it’s coming up here soon.” 

“Sure, that sounds nice.” Naminé put one more cube of sugar in her tea to get it to just the right sweetness, then added a little more cream and stirred. “I’ve never really thought about having a birthday of my own before.”

“Well, you deserve to have one,” Kairi said with a determined glint in her eye. “You’re your own person. Always have been, always will be.”

The two girls chatted some more as they finished their breakfast, and the subject soon slipped away from Naminé’s mind. It wasn’t until she and Xion were gathering shells together on Destiny Islands a few days later when the topic of birthdays came up again.

“See,” Xion said as she picked up a thalassa shell, “I like these ones the most, with the pink centers and yellow edges.” 

“I like them too. Yellow’s one of my favorite colors.”

Yellow was the color of the sun. A hopeful color for a girl that had begun her life in a cage, longing to see the outdoors for herself. For that reason alone it was precious to her. 

“You like blue too, right?” Xion said. She placed another thalassa shell in Naminé’s palm, this one with a blue center and yellow edges.

Naminé nodded. “Yes. Blue is the color of the sky… of the waves… all the things I longed to see when I was imprisoned in Castle Oblivion.” 

“It suits you, and so does yellow,” Xion said with a smile. “Born from the waves, and reborn during the spring.” 

“Xion, when is your birthday?” Naminé suddenly asked. She realized she hadn’t really gotten to celebrate it with her before. 

“Oh, my birthday? I figured it should be during the fall. I don’t know why, but I’ve always been drawn to falling leaves, the seasons changing, that kind of thing.” She smiled ruefully. “I suppose because I felt like my time was limited, just like those leaves. Kairi actually asked me about it recently, I think because she wants to—”  

Her eyes went wide, then she coughed and craned her neck. “Look, I see some more shells over there!”

Naminé found Xion’s startled reaction rather curious, but she didn’t press her friend. It was just nice to spend time together sharing a hobby they both enjoyed. For a girl who had started life with no friends of her own, Naminé was lucky to have so many now. 

The next time she met with her friends, it was for a picnic on Rapunzel’s world, in a clearing in the woods near a small pool. The weather was perfect, sunny with a breeze blowing dandelions and flower petals through the air, and she and Sora and Rapunzel were all cloud gazing after a delicious lunch of sandwiches and cookies and lemonade. 

“See that one right there?” Rapunzel said, pointing up at the sky. “It looks like Maximus.” 

“It sure does!” Sora put his hand behind his neck and grinned. “The sky’s full of all sorts of interesting clouds today.” 

“I wish I had my sketchbook with me,” Naminé said with a sigh. “I’d love to draw all of them.” 

“Take a picture with your Gummiphone then,” Sora suggested. “You can always draw it later based off of that.” 

“I’d like to, but I’ve run out of room in my sketchbook. I could really use some new pencils, too.”

Sora and Rapunzel exchanged glances, and Sora grinned.

“Naminé, you should come to the castle,” Rapunzel said. “I’d love to show you some of my art supplies. Have you ever tried painting before?”

Naminé shook her head. “No, I haven’t, but I’d love to. Thank you for the invitation.”

“What are we waiting for? Let’s go now!” Sora sat up and sprang to his feet. 

The three of them spent the rest of the afternoon trying out Rapunzel’s art supplies. Well, more like Rapunzel showed Naminé her things and let her try them out while Sora kept typing away at his Gummiphone. Naminé giggled at how he still typed with one finger, like a bird pecking at grains of rice. 

“There we go,” he said all of a sudden, then put his phone in his pocket. “What’d I miss?”

Naminé and Rapunzel both giggled and showed him what they’d made: a painting to hang on the walls of Naminé’s room in Twilight Town. It was of the beautiful woods where they’d had the picnic with dandelions flower petals floating through the air. As soon as she got home, she put it up and gave it a satisfied nod.

The days flew by until at last it was the anniversary of her rebirth. There was a knock on the door late in the afternoon, and when she went to get it, she was surprised to see Riku and Roxas waiting there for her.

“Hey Naminé,” Roxas greeted with a grin. His eyes were playful, like he had a big secret he couldn’t wait to share.

“Come with us, there’s something we’d like to show you,” Riku added, and she ducked back inside to grab a few things before following them through the woods and to the Old Mansion. 

“Why are we here?” she asked. 

“You’ll see,” was all Roxas and Riku said, and she followed them inside. She was shocked by how nice the entrance looked, like someone had been in here and cleaned things up—

“Surprise!”

She gasped as she entered the foyer. A huge banner hanging from the stairs read Happy Birthday Naminé, and all her friends were gathered around a large table in the center of the room. The evening light shone through the window behind them, pink and purple and blue, another gorgeous twilight on this world she called home now. 

“Happy Birthday Naminé!” her friends all cheered, and she couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face. So this was what they had been plotting and planning all this time. Roxas grinned and grabbed a camera to take a few shots, and Sora and Riku had some of those confetti poppers that they popped with loud crackling noises.  

The seashell decorations were yellow and the star candles were blue on the cake Xion held. Axel lit the candles, and they cast flickering lights and shadows over everyone’s faces.

Kairi leaned close and murmured, “Make a wish, but keep it secret.”

“A secret?” Naminé asked, tilting her head.

“It won’t come true if you tell us,” Ven explained, and Terra nodded. 

As Naminé looked at the faces of her friends, what she should wish for became clear. She knew, deep in her heart, what she wanted more than anything.

With that, she blew out the candles, and everyone cheered loudly. Aqua swept the cake out of Xion’s hands so she could cut it properly, and then everyone sat around the table. The cake was delicious, vanilla and lemon, and after everyone was done eating, it was time for Naminé to open her presents. 

“Here!” Sora said, his eyes shining as he handed her the first one. “It’s from all of us.”

Naminé’s hands shook as she removed the wrapping paper. She wasn’t used to getting gifts, and it took her some time to free the box. But once she did, she couldn’t have stopped the smile on her face even if she’d wanted to.

“They’re like the paints Rapunzel has! And in all the colors I like too.” She hugged the box to her chest. “Oh, thank you so much everyone, I can’t wait to use these.” 

When she was finished unwrapping the rest of her presents, more art supplies and nice jewelry and cute clothes, she thanked her friends for making this such a wonderful birthday night. But there was one last thing that would make it truly perfect.

“If you wouldn’t mind,” Naminé said, “let’s make a painting together. So we have something to help us remember tonight.”

Naminé loved drawing on her own, but drawing with her friends was truly wonderful. Everyone brought their own unique spark to the table. And when the painting was finished, it was one huge flowing mosaic of color and life and creativity. Sure, it wasn’t a masterpiece, but it was something truly unique that only they could have made. And that was why it was a work of art. Not because it was perfect or technically skilled, but because it had their hearts poured into it.

Naminé couldn’t have asked for a better way to commemorate her birthday.  

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A/N: Thank you so much to the mods for making this project possible and for being so caring and supportive! And thank you to the other contributors, this zine was such a joy and I enjoyed talking to you all. A big thank you too to Somnium for drawing the banner! I really enjoyed working with you!

And thank you for reading!

[ddullahan]

hadestown au 1

HI SO My anxiety has been through the fuckin roof for the past few weeks and in a fit of stress I deleted the first look of the bees hadestown au that I posted a few weeks ago. I’m feeling much better now and I wanted to repost it because I really am super excited about it >< Anyway, second verse, maybe same as the first, here we go! ---------------- it’s an old song As all tales begin, there comes a moment of question. The precipice we all stand at, toes hanging over the edge, eager to take the plunge. The question, different for every eye and ear turned to the story, starts as a feeling. It buoys us through the long swathes of paragraphs ahead. It seeps into our minds, and pushes us off the edge. We have that moment of freefall. Of realisation. We have to trust in something to catch us. Like most fairy tales, it begins with once upon a time. There laid a railroad track.   If you've ever heard the rails sing on a good, windy day, you'd know the sound sticks to the back of your mind. There to stay until the dark of night, when it creeps up to whisper wanderlust into your bones. The song of the rails is a low and resonant thing, humming into the willows scattered along the railroad sides. They used to say the rails were the Fates groaning in your ears. Urging you along. Waiting in anticipation for the train to come to call. Waiting for the story to start its freefall. The metal likes to wail beneath blackened wheels on hot, summer days. Days much like the one in which our story begins. Once upon a time - Metal chatters under the weight of an ancient, scorch-marked train. Decorated with blacked out windows. Panes of glass soot-stained, like they’d been brushed with fire one too many times. Coal smoke bursts from its chimney with a grudge, flooding the gray skies in the type of black smog that you can taste in the back of your mouth, long after the train’s disappeared. It was painted white once, a long, long time ago. A gift from the boss man down below for his flowering wife; but it’s one of those gifts you shove in the back of your drawer. One of those things that you spend your nights lying awake in bed, thinking in guilty chords. The train still runs, but the old white sides are now black and cold. Like the panting of dogs on the skin of your heels, the wind still blows hot behind it. The only thing it tows are souls to their final destination, but it won't take you if you ain't got the gold to board. It’s a fact almost everyone knows. ‘Cause the old legends say the road to hell could lead you out of poverty, but you gotta pay the toll to get that good money. The wind cracks and snaps after the train; sends the short ribbons of inky black hair whipping. Snapping into the brown-skinned face of a hungry young woman.   Blake Belladonna’s eyes glint like knives with a debt to pay, and her steps are sure footed against the rolling rocks under her boots. She wears a weathered bag slung over her shoulder, and a once-warm leather duster now worn to shit and hole-y. She seems small among the billowing willows and smoggy skies. She doesn't know where she's going or how she got to the railroad at all - but she knows how to turn her collar against the wind. And she knows how to run.   Metal shrieks, pulling her eyes up like a hand to the chin. She’s left to watch as the ruined, black omen of a train screams past a small, dilapidated station. It’s the only structure for miles. The cicadas are screaming along to the wailing of the tracks in a symphony, until the locomotive vanishes over the curve of a distant hill. The station's dry, mud-caked windows send silt drifting to cracked, rotting floorboards. The coke-bottle thick panes rattle angrily in their fragile frames, and then come to find their peace once more. Damn this is a dump, the young woman thinks, approaching the station. But it'll have to do. The sun's rays sink into her skull and turn her warm brown skin hot to the touch. It's far too hot for April. Stepping into the shade is an immediate relief, until the hot wind kicks up again. It blasts in her face as if to remind her it's there. As if she could ever forget. She's used to the way it whispers starvation in her ears. She throws the door open and escapes from the wind; stumbles her way into the empty station. Small and dusty like it’d been forgotten, filled with only two benches facing each other and a single door hiding behind them in the gloom. There's a sign on the door that reads "End o  th  line Caf ". Faintly, she can hear music behind it. Blake doesn't hesitate, and heads for the door. The knob breaks off in her hand, but it feels familiar and solid so she pockets it and heads inside. Follows the hallway and the pull of her feet to the music. The walls grow darker and thicker with polished wood. Her steps don't seem to echo and the music has since paused. The quiet starts to make her anxious. She doesn't like dark hallways. She's dreamt of them enough for a lifetime. The further she goes, the more her unease starts to grow and the more she starts to wonder if she's been here before. It's ridiculous, really. This is the farthest south she'd ever gone. Or was she in the east? Her anxious heart speeds up for a reason she can't see, and it's like her feet already know where to go. The hallway turns suddenly and she finds herself standing at the rim of an amphitheater of sorts. The music fades back in. There's a band jamming to soft jazz in the stands, people crowded and conversing at tiny tables scattered about the flat floor at the bottom. There's a man at a piano playing a diddy, there's a flicker of gold in the kitchen beyond. It's alive in a way that she hadn't seen in a long time, and she finds her feet eager to join the dancing 'round the tables below. She takes a step and nearly runs into another woman, decked out in a crisp white and red suit. She’s older, maybe late thirties or mid forties - has this eternally kind, yet melancholy smile. Her features are fair, but tired. Her black hair is pulled back like Blake’s, but tipped with red like the ends had been dipped in paint. Blake apologises immediately - "E-excuse me, sorry," and starts picking her way down to the tables. "No worries dear," She hears faintly behind her, the older woman's face already blurred from her memory. She blinks and suddenly she’s on the bottom floor, with the movers and shakers rattling cups with their stomping jive. She wants to move with them, but she's already reaching for an empty chair, like her hand was following its own storyline. The flash of gold catches her attention again. Her feet slip into a shallow groove in the floor, and she is rooted. Something crashes, and her eyes follow the clattering sharp shards of porcelain. One piece with purple trim bounces off a brown boot. She notices a hole near the big toe. Blake looks up, and her heart decides to freefall.   All the way across the floor stands a young woman in an apron. A bucket of newly broken dishes lay at her feet.   Her eyes are so pale and pretty they have their own orbit amidst the aging lights above. Her blonde hair ripples into liquid gold, twisted messily into a bun. Broad shoulders are cinched into position with suspenders and there's an off-white shirt rolled up to her elbows, the hem tucked into a pair of trousers. The skin of her strong forearms are tanned and riddled with freckles, spreading constellations all the way up her neck and across the gradual slope of her nose.   Oh, there's something familiar about all of this. Blake feels it in her bones. There’s something familiar in the ‘o’ of her startled mouth. Something about the empty hands she hovers, still holding an imaginary bucket of plates. She's got those sharp lilac eyes pinned on something in front of her.   It's a jolt to realise she's staring right at Blake. Though suddenly, that older woman in the white and red suit sweeps by that freckled face, and it's with a smile and a wave that their staring contest ends. No one claims the victory as the spell breaks. The older woman asks something that Blake can't hear, but she knows her voice is soft and sweet. Her feet move like she’s skating on air, and Blake decides to focus on that. She focuses on that instead of the heartbeat in her chest. She doesn’t think about how her pulse no longer feels like it belongs to herself. The golden woman nods stiffly and turns. Follows the gliding woman to the back of the house, and Blake is left with a heart migrating into her throat. The hungry young woman quickly tears her gaze away, uproots her feet from the grooves in the floor, and sits at the table she'd claimed. Her skin feels clammy. Her body is buzzing. She shrugs off her bag and coat, then pulls her bag into her lap. As if there was anything in there worth protecting. It could be minutes, it could be hours. She's really not sure, when a shadow falls over her table, and the sight aches like an old friend. A bottle of some fizzy drink is set gently before her, the bottle cap rattling towards her side of the table. Sunflower Pop, it reads. She looks up. The poor young woman, with her liquid gold locks wrapped in a messy topknot, stares right back. They're both struck speechless.   If there was ever a moment where destiny fills the lungs, it was then. Anticipation strings itself between their ribs, the cords like telephone wires humming their universal tune. I found you. I found you. I found you. But neither of them say a word to each other. The anticipation feels closer to a noose than a cup-and-string, the longer they spend breathing in the other's presence. The hungry young woman with hair black as night, just couldn't look away. Couldn't make her voice work right. The gold haired woman's jaw seems to work, but there was still no sound to be heard. Eventually the woman just turns around and walks away, toddling and tripping like her knees were unsteady. Blake sits where she left her, feeling much more than sympathy. She feels like her chair would collapse with her if she tried to follow. And again, there are voices whispering in the back of her mind. The wind already found her inside this place, its voices groaning and hollow. It always finds her, and she knows. She knows it always will. But as her slender fingers wrap around the neck of the bottle left on her table, Blake tastes the fizz and hums. Feels the crackle of carbonation all across her skin as she tracks the tall blonde with her eyes. The wind doesn’t feel like a whip in this vibrant, lively place. That has to count for something. Maybe she should stick around, just for one day. Maybe she would stick around and wait for the band to play.

[yahboobeh]

Metanoia chapter 2

A collaboration with @weaponsmistress​

AO3 | FFN | Insta

"And it falls and it breaks and it turns into something new" - Why can't we be friends? The Academic

She was 11 the first time she saw him. Gai had sent Lee and Tenten into town to pick up some food. Hyuuga Neji had walked past them with purpose as if he knew exactly how high above everyone else he was.

He stuck out like a sore thumb, as every Hyuuga did. His skin was pale, almost like milk, and his eyes were the most peculiar shade of lavender that Tenten had ever seen. Despite likely having been born on the island, he dressed like a foreigner, wrapped in the silk robes that were popular on the mainland.

"Is that a Hyuuga?" asked Lee.

"Yeah. I wonder what he's doing here."

Lee shrugged.

"Probably shopping, like everyone else."

"Don't they have servants for that?"

"Maybe he wanted some fresh air?"

Tenten crossed her arms.

"Do you always have to find the good in everyone?"

Lee shifted the basket of plums he was carrying from one arm to the other, weighing his thoughts before responding.

"There is good in everyone, Tenten."

Tenten looked over at the sweets stand and started walking. The stand was stuffed with cakes, dumplings, and every manner of pastry she knew. Her eyes fell on the skewers of candied fruits. Tenten stuck her hand in her pocket and counted the remaining coins.

"Should we split something?" she asked, pointing towards the fruit.

Lee nodded, before continuing on the lecture that he'd, no doubt, memorized from their father's ramblings.

"You need to take a closer look at people to find the good!"

Tenten paid, grabbed her sweet, and chewed on the first piece of fruit before passing it to Lee.

They took their time walking down the street, enjoying each bite when Neji walked past again. Lee elbowed her, and she looked up.

"What do you see?"

Tenten chewed, considering her answer while she took in every detail of him.

"I see a stuck up rich kid," she finally said, swallowing her snack.

Lee frowned.

"I think he looks sad."

Tenten rolled her eyes, sticking the empty skewer into her basket.

"What could he possibly have to be sad about?"

"I'm not sure," said Lee, "but there's good hidden under it."

Three years later, as Tenten sat across from Neji in their sitting room, she still thought he looked like a stuck up rich kid. It had been a month since the last inspection, and, much to everyone's relief, Tenten had stayed home without putting up a fight.

She crossed her arms and legs, bouncing her foot impatiently while the older Hyuuga instructed Neji as they ran down their checklist.

Gai had set a tea tray down on the table in front of them. Lee had eagerly joined him in pouring and handing out cups.

"How are you enjoying your new accommodations?" Neji asked, looking up from his notebook.

"They are lovely," said Gai, "we still have a lot of work to do, but with the general's permission, I would like to have the school ready to go by spring."

Neji nodded and added to his notes, pausing only for a drink of tea.

Tenten ran her thumbnail over the chip in her cup, feeling frustrated.

"Will our people be allowed to train here?"

Neji met her gaze and shrugged as if she'd asked him about the weather.

"It's unlikely."

"So, we're just supposed to train the enemy?"

"Tenten," Gai warned.

Neji put his tea down and turned his full attention to her. His back was straight, and his eyes narrowed.

"Yes, you are expected to train members of my family. And you will do so gladly."

Tenten clenched the arm of her chair with her free hand, trying to keep her mouth shut.

"You will do this," continued Neji, "and will cease to refer to my family as the enemy. That type of language is prohibited."

Tenten put down her cup and stood up.

"You and your family are my enemies," she spat.

Neji sighed, setting his tea down too. He moved to stand. Tenten turned her back to him and stormed out of the room.

She could hear Neji's voice, soft, casual, privileged.

"Maito Gai, where are her rooms?"

Tenten stopped dead in her tracks. Her stomach sank as she waited for Gai's answer.

"In the upper quarter, on the east side. Lee will show you."

"Thank you."

Tenten remained frozen in place as Lee guided Neji and Hoheto towards the back of the compound. As he passed, Tenten heard Neji whisper to her.

"Learn your place." And then they were gone. She felt Gai behind her as she fought back angry tears.

"Why would you do that, baba?"

"You left me no choice, Tenten."

"But my room?"

"Your room has been searched before, Tenten, and it will be searched again. Hoheto rarely ever checks as he trusts us. Neji does not yet trust us and, and you are making it more difficult."

"Why should he trust us? And why do you trust them?"

"What choice do we have, Tenten?" She felt the weight of his arm on her shoulder. "This is what our lives look like now."

"I hate it."

"I know, but we need to make the best of this situation. If you want me to train more than just Hyuuga children, we need to form a positive relationship with Neji. If we are seen as an asset instead of a threat, then presenting that idea will be met with less resistance."

Both were quiet for a moment before Gai continued.

"I know you're hurting. We're all hurting, sweetheart, but in order to heal, you will need to learn to let go of your anger. What happened to us was not Neji's doing."

"If he is complacent, then how is he any better?"

"Because he and Hoheto are doing what they need to survive. And surviving is much easier if we are all amicable towards each other."

Tenten turned around, still unable to meet Gai's eyes, and buried her face into his chest, hugging him around the waist. He stroked her back and hair whispering soothing words.

"I'm sorry, Tenten. I know you feel like your space is being violated, but it will be over soon."

She wept silently into his shirt while, across the compound, her room was turned over.

--

Neji sat at his desk, looking down at his scant notes about the Maito family.

The search of Tenten's room had turned up nothing unusual. Even the journal she'd tucked under her mattress lacked anything substantial. It would barely be worth mentioning, except that Hoheto pointed out that her behavior would have to be noted this time.

Neji sighed. There were plenty of families in town that were much more suspicious but still provided less resistance than Tenten.

She'd written about him in her journal. It was nothing unexpected, just a recounting of their first meeting (she'd called him a few choice words) and the dread of having to see him again.

Initially, Neji wanted to write down every detail of her behavior and confiscate her journal, but Hoheto had advised against it.

"She is hurting very deeply," Hoheto cautioned, "it would be best if you two could learn not to challenge each other."

"She needs to learn to respect me," Neji had retorted.

"Ah, but Neji, respect must be earned."

And so, when Neji wrote his notes, he carefully stated that the Maito family was amicable and looking forward to training the Hyuuga. He briefly mentioned that Tenten had been upset about the prospect, but a search of her room showed nothing suspicious.

She is likely struggling with her new station and curious as to why we have chosen to work with her father.

Neji wrote down a few more notes before setting down his brush. He stretched out his back and waited for the ink to dry.

Neji wondered what his father might have done in his place. He thought a lot about the advice his father might have been able to give, had he still been alive.

But having lost him at such a young age, the advice of Hyuuga Hizashi was sparse, and often Neji thought it was a miracle he could remember his face.

He would probably say the same things as Hoheto, Neji thought. But he also liked to imagine that Hizashi wouldn't be as complacent as Hoheto. That being the brother of a general, he would speak up when Hiashi overstepped his boundaries. There was a faint memory of a tattoo under a headband, marring the skin of his father's forehead. Neji never knew why it was there, only that his father was ashamed of it. He knew it was a punishment, just not for what, and so as a child he'd imagined it was for acting righteously.

Someday he would find out if that was the truth.

There was a knock at the door.

"Yes?"

The door popped open, revealing Hoheto.

"Have you finished preparing your report?"

Neji nodded and stood up, grabbing the notebook. He handed it to Hoheto, who checked it over.

"Good. This is well done, especially the part about Maito Tenten."

"Why do we go through such lengths to protect them?"

"You should know, Neji, a happy village is a peaceful village. If we toss people into jail cells for every outburst, we'll have another rebellion on our hands before we know it."

"So that's our job? Not just to seek out any plots, but to discourage them from happening at all?"

"Now, you are beginning to understand. This is why you must make Tenten earn your respect. People talk. She has a fiery personality. It won't be long before people learn about your argument and subsequent search of her room. She may have been in the wrong, but her people will always side with her."

Hoheto handed Neji back the notebook, with a slight bow.

"Now, if you are ready, your uncle is prepared to hear your report."

--

Tenten laid back in the sand, relishing in the heat from the sun. She'd waited for Neji to leave the compound before shutting herself in her room to make sure nothing was out of place. But she could still imagine him in her space, pawing through drawers and her closet, seeking out anything that he could label as suspicious. Tenten stood in the center of her room and looked around. He could have trashed it if he'd wanted to, but nothing was out of place. It made her feel sick. If he'd come through in a blind rage and knocked things over and emptied drawers, she would have had something concrete against him. She would have been able to look at Gai and say, "See? This is what happens!"

But her room was exactly as she'd left it.

Tenten grabbed her bag and left, needing distance from Neji. She stocked up with snacks and allowed herself to be seen by Gai as she left.

She spent the rest of the day there, only returning home after it was dark, and she was cold.

When she fell into bed, Tenten was too weary to give much thought to the earlier search, and for that, she was grateful.

--

When Neji arrived for the next inspection, Gai met them at the gate.

"If I may be so bold, Hyuuga Neji, Hyuuga Hoheto," he said with a bow, "Tenten has promised me today she will behave. I ask only that you recognize she has a tendency to challenge authority. We have been working on that with her daily prayers and meditations."

It was a warning, a plea. Please don't antagonize her.

"I am glad to hear she finds herself in better spirits today," said Neji, "I expect things will go much smoother."

I will do my best. Neji hoped Gai understood his assurance.

They strolled through the first courtyard as Gai explained how he wanted to use the space for training his students. Neji nodded and commented on the improvement.

"You must have been working hard. Last month the garden was overgrown and full of weeds."

"Ah, well, as you know, the Yamanaka family are avid botanists. I had some assistance cleaning up."

"How does the Yamanaka family feel about your new station?"

Hoheto met Neji's eyes and gave him an approving nod. They would make sure to question the Yamanaka family about the visit.

"They are pleased to see us rise," said Gai, "and are eager to get their hands dirty with the sweet earth that nourishes life."

When they arrived in the sitting room, Neji was surprised to see Tenten with a tray of tea, waiting for them.

She set it down on the table and began pouring as everyone took their seats.

Tenten offered Hoheto the first cup and Neji the second, meeting his gaze as she spoke.

"It's chrysanthemum today. I hope you don't mind."

Neji could see the strain at the corners of her mouth. She was trying to be pleasant, not to lash out.

"Thank you," he said, and she seemed to relax just a little. His cup today bore no chips. She'd taken care to make sure they had the best ones. Neji took a sip. "Did you brew this, or was it your father?"

Tenten pursed her lips, preparing a retort if Neji chose to mock the tea. She took a breath and straightened her back.

"I prepared it."

"It's good."

She quirked an eyebrow at him.

"What? No comment about it being weak or poisoned?"

Neji smirked at her and took another sip.

"Not today."

--

The inspections slowly grew less formal. Tenten had taken over the role of preparing tea, as it gave her something to do the morning of the inspection. She would try a new blend every month. Tenten had made tea every month for six months when she realized, with a sinking feeling, that she was starting to look forward to the visits.

She was at the market, looking at the various tea blends when it hit her. Tenten looked up at the older man minding the stall. He spoke, but she didn't hear him. Was she really looking forward to making tea for him? After everything she'd been through and the way, he'd first treated her?

"Miss!"

Tenten returned from her thoughts, and the man's face fell into focus.

"I'm sorry," she said, "I didn't catch that."

"I asked what type of tea you would like today, miss."

"Jasmine," and even as she went through the motions of paying and accepting the package, Tenten's mind was gone again.

Her walk home felt surreal. Tenten felt separate from her body, watching from above as it wound through familiar streets. She looked guilty as if a packet of jasmine tea labeled her a traitor. Pleasant visits with Neji and Hoheto, were supposed to be a front, a facade, but she liked them. Was she betraying the memory of her parents? Of everyone else who had died in the rebellion?

Tenten thought she heard whispers about her and Gai, how their tea gave them away as traitors.

She shook her head.

Everyone loves baba; no one would say that.

She stopped at the familiar fork in the road. If she kept going straight, she would find her way home. If she turned right, she could walk the shoreline for a while.

While she struggled to decide, Naruto appeared at her side.

"Tenten! What are you up to?"

"Oh, hi, Naruto," she flashed him a brief smile, "I was just about to head home."

"Did you get anything good in town?"

"Just some tea. Our inspection is tomorrow, and baba insists we show them our hospitali-tea," she rolled her eyes as she placed the emphases into Gai's pun.

"Ugh, I hate inspection day. And the new kid, Neji? He's got a stick pretty far up his ass, huh?"

Tenten wanted to defend Neji but stopped herself. She wasn't supposed to want that.

"Yeah. I wish we could do something about them."

"Now that you mention it," Naruto leaned in close and lowered his voice.

"I head Kakashi talking last time Yamoto came over. There are people making plans."

"Plans?"

"Yeah. To get rid of them."

"The Hyuu—"

"Shhh!" Naruto pressed his finger to her lips, "There's meetings, I guess. I'm going to try and find out more about them."

Tenten felt something stir in her, a sensation she hadn't felt in years: hope. She took a deep breath and felt lighter.

"I want to know what you find out."

[fresh-outta-jams]

Plastic Heart - Part 21

Namjoon x Reader Author: Admin Mo Summary: When you get the highly-anticipated BTS dolls for Christmas, your life takes a turn in a way you never could have expected. Note: Hey, so I know it’s been like a literal YEAR since I’ve worked on this, but I wanted to give you guys some more content and wrap up the story. This may or may not be the last I write of this. I’m not sure, but I was kind of winding down to the end of this when I was still actively working on it anyway. Keep your eyes peeled for the Epilogue. Warnings: None? Word Count: 2k

Prologue, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21

A few months passed and your birthday was rapidly approaching. Namjoon was in a panic. He didn’t know what to get you. He’d get you BTS’ new album, but you already had it. He couldn’t get you the BTS Funko Pops because then, you’d just have more living toys running around your already-chaotic apartment.

Jin, currently, was in the kitchen baking a cake. He’d become human a few nights before, and just in time to learn how to make cake before your birthday. So, he was practicing. At the moment, he was putting a crumb coat on a lemon cake, as he’d learned from the internet.

“Jin, I don’t know what to get her.” Namjoon said, pacing around the kitchen. “She’s everything to me and I don’t even know what to get her for her birthday.”

“She will love whatever you get her, I promise. She loves you to pieces, Joon. It’s your first time celebrating ANY birthday, let alone hers.”

Namjoon took a breath, nodding. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

“He IS right.” Yoongi piped up from his seat in the other room. “You’re overthinking it. Just go to the store and pick out something she’d like. A new sweatshirt or some movies or something. She’s not picky.”

“Or!” Hoseok ran into the kitchen, followed by Jimin. They were still only a foot tall each, but they were looking to change that as soon as possible. The remaining four had agreed to turn one by one, though, as not to overwhelm you with new human roommates. Plus, you were still looking for a bigger apartment to house everyone in. Your cozy little one bedroom was already too small for the four human inhabitants you had so far.

“You could make her something! You know, something from the heart!” Hoseok continued.

Jimin nodded. “I know she’d appreciate that.”

“That’s a good idea…” Namjoon thought, rubbing his chin. “I don’t think I have the skill to make anything, though…”

He was going to continue, but there was a knock on the door. Namjoon walked to answer it. When he pulled it open, Melody was waiting there, holding a reusable shopping bag full of champagne bottles.

“Oh, hey Melody, come on in.”

“I’ll be quick. I just have drinks for the party tomorrow. Figured I’d drop them off because I’m gonna be a bit late.”

“Yeah, of course. You can just set them on the counter.” Namjoon pointed back towards the kitchen, where Jin was still diligently working.

Melody stopped at the sight of him, staring for a long time. Namjoon chuckled a little at her reaction. You had mentioned Melody was a Jin fangirl.

“H-hi. Have we met?” Melody asked, brushing a piece of hair out of her face.

Jin looked up at her with wide eyes. “Um, no, not yet.” It was technically a lie. He vividly remembered the night when she, Ella, and Luna had slept over and he’d been in Melody’s perfect hands all night. “My name is Jin.”

Melody was stuck, staring at him with stars in her eyes. So distracted by his handsome face that she didn’t even notice Hoseok and Jimin quietly sneak back to your bedroom. “I’m Melody.”

Seizing the moment, Jin stepped forward and took Melody’s hand in his, kissing the back of it. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.” She stared for another long quiet patch, her cheeks bright red, before he finally remembered her task. She set the champagne on the counter, giggling through her embarrassment and the butterflies fluttering around in her stomach. “Um, well, I’ve gotta go, uh, do homework. See you guys later!”

She rushed out the front door, positive if she spent one more second with Mr. Handsome, she’d explode.

“Smooth.” Yoongi noted, saluting Jin. “Well done. And nice fake name, by the way. Aren’t we supposed to be throwing people off our scent?”

“It just slipped out!” Jin retorted. “She’s...beautiful.”

“Can we focus here? The party’s tomorrow, and I still don’t know-”

“Tell you what, let’s go out shopping right now and pick out something for your girlfriend. I’ll help. I think I have excellent judgement.” Yoongi stood up from his chair and slipped on his hat and mask.

“Good idea.” Namjoon nodded. He checked his phone real quick before slipping it into his pocket. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” Yoongi nodded. “Jin, don’t burn the place down while we’re gone.”

Jin laughed. “No promises.”

***

You got home about an hour later. Namjoon and Yoongi were still out. You stopped at the mailbox outside and brought in the one thing inside it: a single envelope that said it was from your Aunt Matilda. She was your favorite aunt, the one who had inadvertently sent you on this whole journey to begin with. If it wasn’t for her, you wouldn’t have your amazing boyfriend at all.

You sat down on the couch to open it, but were interrupted by a stubby little arm poking at your ankle. You reached down and lifted Koya onto your lap, petting his little head.

“How was your day today, Koya? Did your uncles take good care of you?”

“Of course we did, (Y/N),” said Tae. “We’re the best uncles ever.”

“Indeed you are. How silly of me.” You chuckled. “Do you know where Namjoon is?”

“He and Yoongi went out.” Tae answered, climbing up onto the couch. “To do some ~secret shopping~...”

“Oooh, secret shopping, huh?” You raised an eyebrow, chuckling as Koya got comfortable, already asleep on your leg. “Sounds interesting.”

You opened the envelope and pulled out not only a note written in your aunt’s gorgeous cursive handwriting, but also a necklace. It had a black chord, a blue crystal dangling from the pendant on it. You admired it for a moment before putting it on, and then you unfolded the note to read it.

“My dear (Y/N),

Happy Birthday! I am so proud of you. You’ve grown into such a beautiful young woman. You are more powerful than you know. I see so much of myself in you and I’m beyond proud to call you my niece.

The necklace I enclosed was one I owned when I was your age. It served me well, and I hope it will serve you also.

I see so much greatness in your future. I hope you have fun on your next trip around the sun.

Blessed be,

Aunt Matilda”

She was cryptic, but she always had been. You smiled and folded the note, letting your fingers drift to the necklace hanging around your neck. Maybe you were going crazy, but you swore you felt it vibrating faintly.

While you were thinking about it, though, you heard a key in the door, and it opened, revealing your beautiful boyfriend and Yoongi, each of them holding a handful of bags.

“Aaah! Baby, close your eyes!” Namjoon said, and you laughed, lifting your hands to cover your eyes.

“They’re closed.”

“Okay, good. I’ll be right back. Stay put.” He said. You heard his voice as he walked past you. You heard him rummaging around a bit in the other room, and then he returned, his large hands gently removing yours from their spots in front of your face. When you could finally see him again, he was crouched down in front of you, the softest look in his eyes.

“What?”

“Nothing, I just missed you.” He replied, taking your face in both of his large hands and kissing your forehead gently.

You laughed. “It’s only been a few hours.”

“I know.” He motioned for you to get up, so you did, and he engulfed you in a hug, Koya cuddled between you. You snuggled deeper into his broad chest. Never did you think this would be your reality, but it was. You were dating the sweetest, kindest guy in the entire world, and the fact that he looked and sounded like your bias of seven years was just the icing on the cake. You couldn’t wait for your birthday and all of the birthdays after it, as long as you had Namjoon by your side.

***

The next night, all of your friends came over for your birthday party. Jin had made a beautiful cake, and there was plenty of pizza, pop, and alcohol to keep the good times rolling. Namjoon doted on your every want and need, making sure you were happy and well-cared for on every level.

“Namjoon, I am FINE. I don’t need anything else.”

“Okay. Just checking. It’s my girl’s big day after all.” He wrapped his arm around your shoulders and pulled you closer, kissing your forehead.

“Happy birthday!!!” Ella called, walking into the apartment with presents and a few bags of chips. “Let’s get this party started!!”

Yoongi set up a speaker and started playing the party playlist he’d put together, and you started dancing with the others, bopping around the kitchen. Hoseok, Jimin, Tae, and Jungkook were all in your bedroom with Koya, but you hoped they were having a good time, too.

It looked like Jin and Melody were hitting it off. You weren’t surprised. Melody had been a Jin stan since the dawn of time, so although your Jin didn’t look EXACTLY like Seokjin of BTS, he was as close as she was ever going to get, probably.

Namjoon watched you happily dancing and smiled to himself. So much had happened since he met you. He remembered a time not so long ago when he’d been a foot tall and made of plastic, hopelessly crushing on someone who didn’t even know he was alive. And then there was the fateful day where Taehyung sneezed and changed your whole lives. He’d been standing on your dresser, trying to calm you down. He’d been so tiny then, he reminisced, laughing softly. He had no idea what was in store for him, then, the giant world he was destined to join.

He wanted to be your boyfriend so bad that he’d manifested an entire new life for himself. One where you and him could FINALLY be together, and he couldn’t imagine things any other way.

“You okay?” You asked, gently tilting his face up towards you.

He was sitting in a chair, taking a little breather and staring at you with a familiar look on his face. “Of course I’m okay. Why?”

“You’ve got your thinky face on.” You laughed, moving his arm so you could sit in his lap.

His arms snaked around your waist and he rested his chin on your shoulder. “Just thinking is all.”

“About what?”

“You. It’s always you.” His deep voice murmured, his chest rumbling softly as he said it. “Happy birthday, baby.”

“Thank you.” You kissed the end of his nose and then his cheek, right on his perfect little dimple.

“Cake time!” Jin declared, lighting the candles. He was eager for people to try his baking.

You stood up from Joon’s lap and walked over to the lit cake. Joon followed, lacing his fingers through yours.

“Make a wish,” he whispered, squeezing your hand.

You mulled over it for a second and then you smiled, leaning forward to blow out the candles in one puff. As soon as the smoke started to rise, the necklace your aunt had given you glowed. You stared at it in shock, unsure of what it meant. It was then that the door to your bedroom opened, and a life size pink-haired Jungkook peeked out. He tentatively walked towards the kitchen, followed by Jimin, Tae, and Hoseok, all of them human.

“(Y/N)...” Ella asked, staring at them. “What the fuck did you wish for?”

“Noona, something weird happened.” Jungkook said, happy tears welling in his eyes. He pulled you in for a giant hug, which you gladly gave him.

“Yeah, you don’t say.” You giggled.

“I’m gonna be busy, aren’t I?” Luna laughed, shaking her head.

“I think we all are.” Yoongi added.

“What’s happening?” Melody asked.

Namjoon rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s a long story…”

Tagged:  @coolcat494, @ffantasylandd, @feed-my-geek-soul, @ayoo-bangtan, @xxqueenwxtchxx, @cap-lu20, @finninpoposu, @coldbookworm, @sitkafay, @daniawinchesters21, @okaysoplshelpme, @zamirayinyue13, @douseeme16, @thetofuartist,  @iie-wakarimasen​, @lilgaga98​, @catbugsugarpea​,  @demonic-meatball​, @backtonormalthings​,  @kbowen9

[gisachi]

Surprise Me, Surprise You (Happy Shinichi Day! 05.04.20) (ShinRan. Drabble. College. Roommates.)

.

.

(Many months after the Blackout incident…)

.

He is out late again.

Going back to their apartment a little past midnight has slowly turned into a routine. School work, on top of detective work, is such a pain. The only thing he’s grateful for is the fact that he likes his major, Criminology, so damn much. Had it been otherwise, the reason for going home late for the past few days will be because of a real case of homicide, not because of a simulated midterm project geared to identify fingerprints, blood splatters, and wounds for his Forensics class.

Not that he wants more homicides to happen. Well. Real, unsolved cases make him feel alive. Not school requirements.

He shuffles for his keys and opens the front door quietly, careful not to make any unnecessary sound that might disrupt the sleep of his roommate.

Roommate slash childhood friend slash most favorite person in the world —

— Platonically. Or so he forces himself to believe.

The light in the living room is still open, much to his confusion. He walks to the light switch, only to stop short upon seeing a figure sleeping soundly by the dining table.

Ah. There she goes again.

He shrugs and approaches the woman. She looks so peaceful sleeping like a log that for a moment he debates on whether or not to wake her up or just drape her with a blanket. But whatever decision he thinks of becomes moot upon hearing a tired sigh, followed by a long, disconcerted yawn.

He almost snorts at how ridiculous she looks as she stretches her limbs while wearing that striped party hat on her head.

“Nn...Shinichi?”

“Mhm,” he pulls up a seat, eyes half lidded, his elbows on the table as one palm couches his cheek. “You fell asleep here. Again. How tired are you on a daily basis?”

She rubs her eyes, attempting to ride them off of sleepiness.

“What time is it?”

“12:25 AM.”

“Twel... EH?!”

Like a panic-stricken child, Ran stands upright, droopiness gone in an instant. She glances at her phone and her face whitens. After hurriedly sending a mail, she pulls out a match from her back pocket and lights a small candle sticking out from the center of a finely baked pie, which has surprisingly gone unnoticed in front of him.

Shinichi watches in quiet amazement as Ran lifts the pastry and brings it near his face.

“Ha-... Happy birthday, Shinichi!”

Shinichi blinks owlishly.

It’s my birthday?

“It’s your birthday, you moron!” Ran answers, like she has just read his mind.

“Oh.” He looks at the pie in front of him, then at her. “It is...Oh. Okay.”

She rolls her eyes and releases a groan. “Geez. I knew it, you forgot your birthday again!” She slides back to her chair in defeat. “You never really care for occasions like this, do you?”

He smiles apologetically.

“Well, worry not,” she places the pie on the table, “because that’s what I’m here for. To remind you!”

For a detective geek’s best friend, this girl’s pretty painstakingly persistent. He has known this since they were young, remembering the many times she’d coax him into eating, drinking, and sleeping, everytime his detective brain got the best of him. Some people would give up easily, but not her. Although her ramblings were never guaranteed to work on him all the time, she remained relentless in reminding him to do human things because he’s, you know, human, and if she won’t, no one else will.

Somehow, this trait of hers has grown on him and admittedly, he finds it kinda nice. She’s like his own personal alarm clock. When he finds himself too engrossed in unworldly interests, or lost in track for whatever reason, her smiling face will randomly pop up in his head to tell him to breathe. Rest. Take it easy. Then he’ll do it and be okay again.

That’s one of the many reasons why he considers her his most favorite person in the world.

In a platonic sense.

(Read: Not.)

“Sometimes, it’s nice to take a break and celebrate moments like this, you know?” She remarks, bringing her face to her palm. “Especially with people you love.”

She smiles at him appreciatively, and his heart flutters at that.

With people you love. Yeah.

“Now, make a wish and blow the candle!” And so he does. Ran claps her hand once the fire is extinguished, and readies to slice the pie with a knife she prepared beforehand.

Ran gives him a hefty piece and awaits his reaction on the first bite.

“So? How is it?” Her eyes glimmer in anticipation for his answer, and she gets it when he widens his eyes and licks the crumbs around his lips in interest.

“Lemon pie...” He blushes at how delicious it tastes. “My favo-”

“Your favorite! Yay, I’m really glad the taste turned out well!” She cups her cheeks in glee, marveling at her achievement. “I’ve only tried baking it once, so I’m not really confident about it.”

He forks more crumbs and eats in silence.

You should be. It’s the most delicious lemon pie I’ve ever tasted!

“I learned from Asami-senpai that you like lemon pie. You know, our former student council president? The really pretty senpai who was liked by everybody from our high school?”

I know her. No one compares to you, though.

“You might’ve forgotten about that already, Shinichi, but she baked the whole soccer club a lemon pie and you-” she snorts, “-you said it was bad! Oh my god! How dare you?”

It really was! I couldn’t lie...

“Anyway, she also told me that she confessed her feelings to you but you rejected her. Said you’ve been in love with somebody else for years…” she drifts away, shoving another bite into her mouth, chuckling passively.

“I wonder who the lucky girl is?”

...Can’t lie.

“It’s you.”

Her giggle dies down, mouth stops munching, smile instantly disappearing from her lips. Eyes widen like saucers, her face contorting to an unfathomable expression he can best associate to pure bewilderment.

“Wh...what?”

“I said it’s you,” he looks away.

He doesn’t mean to say that out loud —

“...always been you.”

— and repeat it thrice.

But oh boy, there he goes.

How does she look right now? Surprised? Confused? Betrayed? He cannot confirm. He’s afraid to look again. He doesn’t think he can.

(I love you.)

But alas, his senses betray him as his eyes instinctively flit back up, locking with hers, searching in desperation for whatever answer her beautiful eyes store.

Though words fail him (and her) at the moment, he wants to know.

He hopes ‘I love you back’ is a set of crystal eyes edging with tears that if she blinks, they’ll fall. He hopes ‘I love you back’ is a sharp, quivering inhale, unable to release an exhale, because she needs to fill her lungs with air or else she’ll pass out. He hopes ‘I love you back’ is that nervous bite on her lower lip, stopping the waterfall of words about to gush out.

(Do you love me too?)

He moves his face closer, closer to her... maybe he’ll get a clearer answer if he sees her eye to eye, nose to nose, breath to breath—

Knock! Knock! Knock!

As quick as lightning, Ran stands up from her seat, face as red as her ridiculous striped party hat.

“G-gee, I wonder wh-who’s at the door?! Haha! C-Can you open it, Shinichi?”

She stutters and he cannot help but laugh at her awkwardness. He coughs and walks his way to the door. Weirdo as always.

...

You just confessed to her on your birthday. Now who’s the more awkward one?

“SURPRISE!!”

He jolts at the sudden outburst of energy radiating from the other side. Startled to the bones, his eyes jump from one person to the other.

Kazuha-san. Hattori. Tou-san. Kaa-san. Sonoko. Kyougoku-san.

A mix of voices all echoing the same birthday greeting fills his ears, as he stands there confused as to who he shall prioritize first -- Yukiko hugging him, Heiji patting his head like he’s some disciple, Sonoko taking a picture of the sweet parent-child moment, Makoto holding a Shinichi banner with Shinichi’s big sleeping face plastered on it, Kazuha laughing at the background, or Ran admiring everything from inside their apartment.

“We hope we didn’t disturb a sacred moment,” Yusaku butts in, eyes shifting between Ran and Shinichi.

“We mailed Ran-chan and told her we’ll drop by and surprise you, Shin-chaaan!” Yukiko hugs him more tightly, earning her a wince from the birthday boy.

Entering the apartment freely, the four younger adults hang the banner a little above the pie Ran baked. Heiji and Kazuha unbox a chocolate cake they probably bought on their way to them, while Sonoko assists Makoto uncork a bottle of champagne and prepare eight glasses of wine on the table.

“To Kudo!” Hattori exclaims, as he lights the other cake on the table.

“To Kudo!” everyone shouts in unison.

He looks at the people, admiring everyone who went out of their way to pull this stupid surprise.

“This is what I actually meant when I said celebrating your birthday with people you love,” she whispers beside him, shyly.

He grins stupidly at himself, then looks at her. “And I am now, right?”

In more ways than one.

Cheeks turning crimson, she averts his gaze and looks at the wave of people now crowding over her lemon pie.

“Yes, yes you are.”

The pair looks at Yusaku and Yukiko setting their presents beside the pie; Makoto taking Sonoko’s photos as she pauses in front of their birthday surprise set up. Heiji and Kazuha bicker as to who gets the bigger slice of the pastry.

Amidst the noise, Ran finds herself staring at a full body mirror across the unit, reflecting her and him, side by side, the others blurred in the background.

“And these people you love... they love you back,” she refocuses her gaze on him. “Surely.”

She smiles so wide that it hides her eyes.

“Happy birthday, Shinichi.”

(I love you.)

“Yeah,” he smiles back. “Happy birthday to me.”

...

(I love you, too.)

.

.

[greekletters]

... I'm alive, promise!

Hey everyone! Sorry for the lack of updates/posts. I recently adopted a puppy and she takes up a large chunk of my free time. But I have finally finished another prompt!

I’ll Never Unsee That

“Oh! I have an idea, let’s play truth or dare.” Ruby suggests. And Blake feels the hair on the back of her neck bristle up. 

“YES!” Nora is suddenly incredibly invested in truth or dare, and no longer in the bowl of popcorn in front of her. 

“I’m game to play. But only if we do dares only, truth is always so boring.” Yang smirks and joins the group in a circle on the floor. 

“I think it’s a childish game and don’t see the appeal.” Weiss sticks her nose up but sits down anyways. 

“So that mean you’re in, ice queen?” Yang shoves Weiss’ shoulder, almost knocking her over. 

“Of course I’m in, you brute.”

Blake silently takes a seat across from Weiss. Not really enthusiastic about playing, but everyone else had committed and she didn’t mind being able to look at Weiss for a while. Not that anyone would ever know that. 

“I haven’t played this game in so long. This should be fun.” Pyrrha’s enthusiasm on the other hand, was palpable. 

Clearly, she’d never played this game with Nora and Yang before. 

“I’ll go first since it was my idea to play. And Blake, since your are sitting to my right, you get to ask the dare.”

“Lovely.” She takes a deep breath. “But I want to establish the ground rules. First, no naked dares. I can’t take another month worth of Goodwitch’s detentions.” 

Yang and Nora audibly groan. But Blake continues on. 

“Also, no dirty dares. If I have to explain to Ruby what a lap dance is one more time, I’m going to need therapy.”

“I still don’t really get it.” Ruby mumbles. 

“Oh come on, Blake! If we can’t do any of the fun ones then what’s the point?” Yang crosses her arms in disappointment. 

“I guess you will just have to use your brain and be creative then, huh?” Weiss jabs at Yang, which gains a snarl from the blonde. 

“Now, now, let’s play fair. Blake, go ahead and start.” Pyrrha is still way too excited. 

“Fine. Ruby,” Blake looks around for ideas. Eyes coming to rest on the items on the kitchen counter. “I dare you to eat a spoonful of mustard.”

“That’s it?” Clearly offended, Yang rolls her eyes. 

Ruby hops up from her place next to Blake and moves to grab a spoon. 

“Did I say spoon? I meant the soup ladle.”

“That’s more like it.” The smirk on Yang’s face is telling. 

“What if it makes me sick?” Ruby can’t help but ask. 

“If you throw up before you finish it all, you have to complete a second dare.” Blake clarifies as Ruby squeezes the yellow mustard out of the bottle and into the soup ladle.

“Okay. Ready?” Ruby asks the group even though it doesn’t really matter how ready they are. But they all nod in confirmation, Pyrrha giving a supportive thumbs up. 

After the first bite, Ruby visibly gags but keeps her mouth closed. 

“Get it together Ruby, it’s just mustard.” Weiss offers up her version of support. 

“I’d like to see you eat it then.” She shoots Weiss a glare before taking her third bite off the ladle. 

“Lick the spoon! Lick the spoon!” Nora chants after Ruby finishes the final bite, shaking off a chill at the same time. 

“Yeah no thanks.” Ruby leaves the spoon in the kitchen and comes back and takes her vacant place in the circle. 

“Alright, your turn Ruby.” Blake says, looking at her expectantly. 

“Okay, um, Nora.”

“Yes!” Nora throws her fist in the air. Overzealous as ever. 

“I dare you to eat a whole piece of paper.”

“Easy.” Nora scoffs as she gets up and grabs someone’s notebook off the desk and rips out a fresh piece of paper. 

“Are you going to rip it up or just eat it whole?” Weiss looks absolutely horrified. 

“Does it matter?” Yang says eagerly as Nora crumbles up the piece in a ball and puts it in her mouth. 

“Fascinating.” Pyrrha says, unable to take her eyes off of Nora as she chomps on the paper repeatedly. 

Taking a huge gulp, Nora swallows the mouthful of paper in one go. 

“Like I said, easy. Who wants to go next?” 

Yang starts beating her hands on the ground. Wanting to get picked, knowing Nora is her best chance to have something completely ridiculous to do. 

“Alright, Yang. I challenge you..” she walks over to the kitchen and grabs a bag of grapes from the fruit bowl and comes back over to the circle “to put as many grapes as you can in your mouth.”

Yang catches the bag as Nora tosses it her way and sits back down next to Weiss. 

“Piece of cake. Or should I say, piece of grapes.”

“That makes absolutely no sense.”

“You make no sense, ice queen.” Blake rolls her eyes as Weiss and Yang go back and forth while Yang starts shoving grapes in her mouth one after another. 

After a minute or so, Yang has put nearly twenty grapes in her mouth. She looks like a chipmunk. 

“Nineteen. Come on Yang, I bet you can do another few grapes.” Pyrrha claps her hands together excitedly as Yang keeps going.

“Roh kay. Ron morh.” The five others watch eagerly as Yang puts one final grape in her mouth. 

As soon as the final grape is in her mouth, Yang raises her hands in victory and yells triumphantly. The force of her yell causes the grapes to shoot out of her mouth. One of which hits Blake in the side of her face. 

“Oh sick.” She wipes what she assumes to be spit off the side of her cheek. 

After she wipes her mouth and collects the rolling grapes off the floor, Yang pops one in her mouth and starts to eat them. 

“Foul. Vile. Putrid.” Weiss still disturbed by Yang’s behavior. Yang seems unbothered by Weiss’ opinion. 

“Alright.” Tossing another grape in the air and catching it in her mouth. “My turn. Blake, you’re up.”

“Can’t wait.” Her monotonous voice drips with sarcasm. 

“Since you were easy on Ruby, I’m going to do you a favor.”

“So kind.” Blake rolls her eyes. 

“Take your socks off.”

“That’s it?” Weiss’ voice is shrill from the surprised tone. 

“With your teeth.” Yang smirks, knowing Blake can’t stand feet. “While you’re standing up, can’t make it too easy.”

Blake shrugs and stands up. How hard could it be? After a minute or so of struggling, hopping on one foot, Blake learns this may be harder than she thought. 

“Quit hopping around and focus.” 

“Weiss, I don’t need any tips. I know what I’m doing.”

“Is that so? Because it looks like you’re about to-“

Before Weiss can finish, Blake slips and tumbles to the ground, biting onto the end of her sock as she falls. 

“HA!” She says proudly as she holds the sock between her teeth.

“One down, one to go.” Yang says. 

“You can do it Blake! Don’t fall this time though, that looked like it hurt.”

“It did.” Blake groans as she stands back up. This time, easily pulling the second sock off her left foot. “Is it my turn again?”

“Yup.”

“Okay, um I guess I’ll pick Pyrrha.” Noticing that Pyrrha looks way too eager to play this game, Blake decides to take it upon herself to take that excitement down a notch.

“Oh excellent. I’ve been looking forward to this.”

“How are you excited when you don’t even know what I’m going to ask you to do? Wait, never mind. Doesn’t matter.”

“Cut to the chase, Blake!” Nora is bouncing up and down in her seat. 

“Go lift up the cushions on the couch. And you have to put whatever you find in your mouth for ten seconds.” 

“Savage.” Yang nods in approval. 

“Ew.” Ruby grimaces. 

Pyrrha walks over to the couch and begins to lift up the cushions one by one, noticeably more skeptical. 

“Oh! That looks gross. Get that one!” Nora shouts as Pyrrha lifts up a cushion, uncovering what appears to be an old potato chip. 

Hesitantly, Pyrrha leans over and grabs the chip in her hand and eyes it suspiciously and opens her mouth. 

“Pyrrha, please don’t Yang and Jaune sit on that couch. Gods know where it came from.” Weiss all but begs her not to eat it, as Pyrrha closes her eyes and pops the chip in her mouth. 

Blake’s eyes go wide, Weiss’ mouth falls open and Ruby covers her eyes. Yang stands up and claps, Nora cheers. 

As soon as her ten seconds is up, Pyrrha runs over to the trash bin and empties her mouth, and subsequently her stomach into the container below. 

“I’ll never unsee that.” Weiss looks away, disgusted. 

After rinsing her mouth out in the sink, Pyrrha takes her seat next to Weiss once again. 

“Trust me, you weren’t missing anything.” She looks around the circle to see who should go next. Only one person was left. “I guess I have to pick you then?” Looking over at Weiss. 

“I suppose.”

“Make it something good Pyr, she’s the last one.” Yang leans over and bumps shoulders with Pyrrha.

“Alright then. Um, Weiss, I dare you to..” Weiss looks like she’s holding her breath and could pass out at any second “send your crush a text and say that you love them.”

“Cold blooded.” Blake murmurs, looking to the side, not envious at all. 

“Well at least we know Jaune won’t be getting a text from Weiss.” Nora rolls onto her back in laughter. 

“Hey, that’s not very nice. Jaune is a really nice guy.”

“We all know you got a thing for mop head boy, Pyr. But I highly doubt Weiss is about to send Jaune a message.” Yang looks across Pyrrha, over to Weiss. “Right?”

“If I refuse to complete the dare, what are my options?”

“You can’t refuse, it’s the rules.” Ruby says defiantly. “I had to eat an entire soup ladle of mustard, you can send a single text.”

Weiss looks to the floor and wrings her hands uneasily. 

“It’s easy Weiss, you don’t even have to tell us who you send it to.” Blake tries to make her feel better. “I mean, it could be someone’s lucky day.”

“Exactly. You could make someone’s dream come true. Maybe they feel the same way. You never know.”

“Okay, okay. Hush. All of you. I’ll do it.” She pulls her scroll from her pocket and holds it in her hand. 

After a moment of staring, Weiss begins to navigate to the correct app and quickly types out a message. Reading it over a few times before taking in a deep breath and hitting send. 

“See? That wasn’t that bad, was it?” Yang teases. 

And Weiss looks across the circle and catches Blake’s eye, but the expression on her face is hard for Blake to read. It’s somewhere in between scared and sick. 

“Weiss, you alright?” Blake asks, but before Weiss can answer, Blake’s scroll makes a noise on the floor beside her. Letting her know she has a message. 

She picks it up and unlocks the screen, eyebrows furrowed as she reads the message on the screen. After about the third or fourth time her expression softens and she looks back up at the girl across from her. 

“Weiss?” Blake now shares the same look on her face as Weiss. 

Yang looks back and forth between the two of them until she realizes what happened and her eyes go wide. 

“No fucking way..”

---------------------------

Here is a puppy pic, just because. Her name is Luna. : )

[getthesamovarready]

First Sight

Also on ao3

Because they absolutely should have slept together after that bar scene. Nobody talks like that to someone they don't fancy. "Trying to assert your dominance" you'd like that wouldn't you Owen.

Chapter 3: dancing is a dangerous game

She makes a box from paper on her desk, for the cupcake. It's flimsy, and it would probably be easier to just carry the thing, but she does it anyway. She's bone tired, the long first day catching up with her, so she's grateful for the quiet moment she takes to fold the paper. "Hey Cap." Nancy hovers in the doorway, already changed. "You coming?"

"I gotta go home and change." She tells her. "Can't have this new team think we can't be fancy." A sweater and sneakers isn't exactly the fanciest outfit she could wear. And she's absolutely not thinking of a dress for Owen's sake. Not at all. 

"I don't know if these people would see the Honky Tonk as a real night out." Nancy raises her eyebrows. "Hell, I don't see it as a night out." She smirks when realisation dawns on her. "Trying to impress someone?" She grins, and Michelle feels a flush creep up her neck. She is, not that she'd even admit it to herself.

"Don't be ridiculous Gillian." She scoffs. "I'm just going home to throw something different on. It's no big deal."

It seems an awful lot like a big deal when she's putting on makeup. And perfume. And it definitely feels like a big deal when she bypasses her usuals, reaching instead for one of her slightly more fitted dresses in the back. She doesn't choose it because she knows Owen will look, not at all. She just felt like it, obviously. 

It's not her most sensible choice. She has to put concealer on her shoulder, and arrange her hair so the mark is covered, even though she knows she will forget to keep it that way. 

She's not quite finished when she hears Carlos pull into the driveway, so she runs her fingers through her hair instead of brushing it, only just remembering to grab the cupcake before heading out the door. 

"You look nice." He tells her, with the slightest hint of judgement, when she opens the car door. "Don't know why you had to change though, I mean, it's not exactly high class." His eyes flick to the box in her lap. "What's that?" 

"A birthday cupcake. I thought we should split it." His face falls, nodding slowly, before he starts the car up again. 

"So…" he starts, when they get on the road. "The guy from last night. Hoping he's there again? That why you're wearing one of your, "trying-but-not-obviously-trying dresses"?" There's no judgement, only a teasing smile, and she relaxes into the seat. 

"It's just a random dress Carlos." She rolls her eyes. "It's nothing."

"I know you, Chica. I've seen this all before." She says nothing, just glares at him. "It's a nice dress, don't pretend it's not. So unless someone on the new team is worth trying for, this is about the guy from last night."

"And what if it's neither?" It's both, but she's not exactly going to give Carlos the satisfaction. "What if I just want to celebrate my sister's birthday?"

"It's not neither, but I'll let it go." He concedes, before flicking his eyes over to her briefly. "But this guy, would you see him again? Did he give you his number?"

"He did." She bites on her smirk.

"Are you gonna call it?" 

"No." Her smile falls, and he examines her curiously out of the corner of his eye. "I did think about it." She admits. She had thought about it nearly constantly all day. She's actually surprised that she would have called it, had Owen not showed up at work. Maybe she would have dwelled on it, debated against it. But she would have called him, eventually. "It would be a bad idea though." She shakes the thought out of her head. 

"I know I was a dick about it this morning." Carlos sighs. "I'm sorry, I was just...I dunno. I was angry that I had to arrest you again I guess. And maybe I'm a little over cautious about stuff. And I shouldn't have been so judgy. You liked that guy, I know you did, so don't not call him because I wasn't happy about it." 

"That's not why I'm not going to call him Carlos." She really needs someone to talk to about this, because it's such a bizarre situation that she can't just not talk about it. But they are about to walk into a bar with Owen, and all her new colleagues. And Carlos doesn't have the best poker face she's ever seen.

"Then why not? I know you want to." He pulls into the parking lot. 

"It's just a bad idea." She decides to say. Best to keep the real reason to herself tonight. 

She grabs them a table not far from the team while he gets their drinks. She wants to do this just the two of them, and she's sure the team can manage without her for a little while longer. She's just finished unfolding the box when he arrives with two tequilas. "Why didn't you cut it before you left?" He chuckles as she folds the paper to cut the cupcake. "Wouldn't that have been easier? And like way less messy?"

"Yes." She huffs. "But this works, so leave me alone, or I won't split it, and you don't get anything." It shuts him up, and she manages to cut a squished and uneven line down the centre of the cupcake. "See? It works." She grins, presenting him his half with a flourish. 

Carlos slides her glass towards her. "Thanks Michelle." He raises his glass. "To Iris."

Behind Carlos's head, he sees Owen smile at her, and she raises her own glass with a nod. "Happy Birthday Iris." She downs her drink, settling the glass on the table with a dull thud. Her chest tightens, and she chokes down a corner of cupcake with a shudder. 

It really is a delicious cupcake, and somehow that makes it all worse. "Wow this is good." Carlos mumbles through a mouthful of cupcake. "Iris would approve." 

"I wasn't going to do anything like this." She sighs, breaking off another piece of the cake. "I didn't really see the point." There is no point, really. Iris isn't really alive, or really dead, in her mind. She's just...gone. And she has nowhere to direct her thoughts. "He said it would be a good idea." She rolls her eyes. 

"It was." Carlos takes her hand. "It was a good idea. Not everything has to be so difficult all the time." She shrugs, nodding. "I feel a lot better." A smirk forms on his lips. "You should thank him… for his good idea." He quirks his eyebrows, and she swats him on the arm. 

She hears someone on the team call her over. "Come on," she nudges Carlos. "I'll introduce you." 

The team toast to their first day, a success all round they agree. "To the 126, past and present." Owen smiles sadly at Michelle, Tim, and Nancy. "Cheers." 

The team resume their chatter, Tim and Nancy pulling Carlos in for a catch up, giving Michelle an opportunity to sidle up to Owen. "I should thank you." She smiles. "For the toast," she quirks her head to Nancy, still holding back tears. "That was sweet of you." He waves it off, it was nothing, really. "And I should thank you again, for your advice. And the cupcake." 

His gaze softens, before it twinkles with humour and he smiles. "Speaking of, you got a little…" And then he reaches out, his thumb brushing against her lip, wiping at a stray smudge of frosting. Halfway through the motion, he seems to realise what he's doing, his thumb pausing on her lip. Neither of them move, until a fraction of a second later, she hears TK cough behind Owen, and he jumps, pulling his hand away. 

She shakes herself slightly, laughing. The music shifts, and an idea pops into her head. "Well Captain Stand, shall we?" She turns slightly to the middle of the bar, where a crowd is clearing away. 

"Oh I see, that's why you brought us here, I see you." He chuckles, their tension diffusing. "You wanted to assert your dominance." She flushes madly, glad of the low lighting. If there is one thing she wasn't doing this time last night, it was asserting any dominance.

"I just think a man should have to earn his spurs." She smirks, eyes twinkling. It's suggestive, and she sees TK's eyes widen behind Owen. She also sees Owen spinning the thought around in his head.

"Trust me, you don't want to see me dance." He shakes his head, tensing when TK laughs behind him. 

"Are you shy?" She challenges, stepping slightly closer. There's no way he won't concede. Not with TK ready to mock him. And not when she's looking at him like that.

He concedes, just like she knew he would. He isn't nearly as bad as he suggested he might be, but her plan to pull him away from the team to talk fails miserably. The entire team joins them, eager to celebrate the move to Texas with some bad line dancing. So she keeps her conversation to teasing him, that seems to be how they talk in front of everyone else. 

So they dance, and if they flirt a little, and dance a little too closely, then it's a good thing everyone else is so distracted. 

She knows exactly what's wrong with him when panic crosses his face, and he ducks out of the crowd, hand on his chest. She glances around only briefly, no one is watching them, and if they were she thinks it's worth the risk to follow him anyway. 

"Owen?" She calls from the doorway, catching sight of him doubled over, gasping for breath. "You okay?"

"I'm fine." He gasps out, clearly not fine. She insists that she let her check, she's a paramedic after all. "It's nothing, just a little short of breath."

"Dancing too strenuous an activity for you, Captain?" She asks, giving him a once-over. It makes him flush, and his breath stutters even more. "Didn't think it would be a problem for you, not after last night." Her hand is on his chest, for purely examination purposes, and she feels it shudder. "I'm serious Owen." Her face loses its teasing edge. "This isn't common for you, is it? If it is, you're putting yourself at a lot of risk working right now."

"No, it's not common." He assures her. "First time." She sighs and pulls away from him. "It's really not a big deal." 

"Owen you're sick. Even if you feel fine most of the time, it's risky." If she ends up having to save his life during a call because he decided to work as a goddamned firefighter with lung cancer, she might just let him die. 

"I know." He huffs, his breath finally back to normal. "I'll stop when I have to, I promise." She doesn't seem satisfied, but she shakes the look off when someone calls his name.

"Captain Strand?" The woman steps towards them. "Michelle?" 

Michelle's face brightens at the woman's presence. "Grace!" She smiles, pulling the woman into a hug. "How are you?" She asks, face falling with her second, more serious, question. "How's Judd?"

"That's actually why I came out here." Grace steps towards Owen. "Grace Ryder, Judd Ryder's my husband."

"Nice to meet you." He holds out his hand in greeting. 

"Actually, we've met." She shakes his hand. 

"Grace works 9-1-1 dispatch." Michelle explains at Owen's puzzled look. 

"I took the call that night." She tells him, and he sees Michelle start to fidget uncomfortably. "I was on the line with my husband when the explosion happened." Michelle remembers. Remembers being halfway there when the call came in that they couldn't go to the scene, that another crew had to take over. "He was running, back towards the danger."

"Yeah I read the report." He assures her, a sad kind of understanding on his face. "And his commendation." 

"And I read yours." Grace smiles at him, and he knows where this is going. She's right, he and Judd are a lot alike, but the difference is, he put the work into recovery.

"Yeah well, he needs to take a little time to take care of himself, before he can take care of anyone else." Michelle shifts behind Grace, and he realizes exactly how hypocritical he must sound to her. 

"I'm not asking you to throw him back into the action right away Captain, I know he's not ready for that." 

"So what are you asking?" There really isn't very much that Owen can do without the man's total cooperation. And if they are as alike as Grace says, Judd Ryder might just be too stubborn for that. 

"I'm asking you to do what you do best." Grace swallows. "I'm asking you to save him." It's pleading, and she has to wipe at her eye before she backs away from them, re-entering the bar with just a quick look back. 

"Owen." Michelle steps forward at his sigh. "I'm not just saying this because he's my friend, but you should really give him a chance. He's a good guy to have in your corner."  She rests a hand on his shoulder. "I understand why you're still working. And I know you understand why he has to." 

“Michelle…” He sighs. “The man is traumatised. He can’t do our job with that kind of untreated trauma.”

“And you can do it with compromised lungs?” She counters, though not harshly. “Just think about it? Talk to him?” 

“Fine.” He concedes. “I’ll talk to him again.” 

“Come on.” She cocks her head towards the door. “You look like you could use a drink.” 

He could use a drink, in fact he uses several. "Are you even allowed to be a paramedic?" He asks her, many, many, drinks later. "How can someone get arrested fourteen times and still have your job?" There's no one around them, with half of the team already gone home, and the other half still dancing. So there's no one to see when she swats his arm in mock offense. 

"I'll have you know, Captain Strand." She giggles. "It's been fifteen times." She says it as though it is something to be proud of, and he has to laugh at her. 

"You got arrested again?" He looks around. "Or did you lie to me last night?"

"You told me to celebrate her birthday!" She defends, back straightening on her stool. 

"I didn't tell you to get yourself arrested! Again!" His idea of a birthday celebration had been more along the lines of the drink and cake she had tonight, not violating a restraining order.

"No one ever does." She shrugs. "But it keeps happening." She giggles into her glass, before knocking back the rest of her drink. "It's my turn." She shimmies out of her seat, stopping him when he goes to do the same. 

He watches her the whole way to the bar, jumping violently when TK appears at his side. "You can't sleep with Captain Blake dad." He warns, eyes narrowing. "Don't do it."

"What makes you think I would?" He splutters. 

"You're flirting with her. You've been flirting with her all day." He's actually been trying his best not to flirt with her all day. 

"No I haven't." He tries to defend, stopping immediately at TK's glare.

"Captain Blake seems really nice." He warns. "I don't know her, but she seems like a really nice lady. But most importantly, she's Captain Blake! You can't sleep with the paramedic Captain. We just got here, and you can't make it awkward and weird." 

"I'm not going to sleep with her." He assures him. Michelle had made that clear earlier, even if he'd been doubting how much she meant that with every interaction they've had since. 

"Good." TK nods. "Plus, her best friend is a cop, who could kick your ass if you did anything." Owen watches TK glance back at Carlos, eyes lingering for a moment. 

"You sure you're not only warning me off her," Owen smirks. "Because that would make it awkward for you to see her best friend?"

TK flushes madly, his hands flailing, very nearly knocking over Owen's empty glass. "No." He chokes. "I'm just saying. Don't do it." He catches Michelle turning to walk back to the table, and ducks away. 

"Here you go!" Michelle sets a tall glass of water in front of him. "I figured you'd need it, I'll be right back with the real drinks." She grins at him, turning back towards the bar, hips swaying as she walks. 

"Oh, yeah." TK appears again. "Probably won't be home tonight." He tells him, before disappearing again. Owen watches him brush his hand against Carlos's arm, and chuckles, shaking his head. 

"Those two really hit it off, huh?" Michelle asks, setting his drink in front of him and settling herself into her seat again. 

"Yeah." He sips his water. "Apparently TK won't be home tonight." 

Michelle shifts in her seat, a tiny smile gracing her features, eyes shining. "He won't?" 

[kriscme]

One Life To Live

Thanks as always to Ronja for allowing me to write fanfic of her Hunger Games fanfic “The Chance You Didn’t Take”.  You can find it on AO3 and Fanfiction.

Chapter 30 Haymitch alternates swigs of white liquor with large bites of pizza out of a takeaway box.  I’ve mistimed my visit again, catching the last five minutes of “One Life to Live.”   “What’s Celia doing in a therapy support group?” I ask as the credits roll. Haymitch clicks the off button on the remote and the screen goes black.  “Sex addiction,” he tells me, taking another gulp from his bottle.  “She can’t keep her knickers on after what Lance did to her.” “What did Lance do?” The last time I watched this silly show, she and Lance were having a threesome with the gardener. “Made her like sex too much.  And then Anton.  And Cecil.  And 11’s wrestling team.  They’re blaming psychological issues or some such rubbish.  Fear of emotional intimacy is one theory.   Or could be she’s just a slut.” “And what about Blake?  Is he married to Ginger yet?” “He would’ve been but the baby came a few weeks early and now he wants nothing to do with her.”  I wait for more but Haymitch just helps himself to another slice of pizza. “Why?”

He quirks an eyebrow at me.   “Two people with fair skin usually have a fair skinned baby.” “Oh.”  The guy from the punk band, and the real father of Ginger’s baby, is very dark. I rather wish I had seen that episode when Ginger’s baby popped out.  The look on Blake’s face must have been priceless.  “Well, anyway, I didn’t come here to talk about “One Life to Live.”  I wanted to ask you about Cressida.” “What about her?” “Do you think she can be trusted?” Haymitch shoots me an incredulous look and laughs.  “What do you think?  She works for Plutarch, doesn’t she?” I was afraid he’d say that.   My worry must show in my face.  “Why do you ask?  You haven’t done something stupid, have you?”  When I don’t answer, he snorts and takes another drink. “That’s why no one let you make the plans.” This gets my back up.  “Like you did such a good job of it.  If you’d involved Peeta and me in your so-called plans, we’d have known not to let ourselves be separated from each other in the first place. And then he wouldn’t have been captured, and he wouldn’t now – “ “Yeah, yeah, alright,” he says, raising a hand. “We’ve been over this before and I’m not in the mood to have my face gouged again. It’s bad enough that I had to go through it again with Peeta.” Johanna told me that Peeta got mad at Haymitch when those memories came back.  Preoccupied as I often am with my own guilt over Peeta, I sometimes forget that Haymitch is carrying his share of it too and my anger subsides.  Besides, my bitten down fingernails could barely impact a mosquito bite.  I should make time to visit the salon to have those fake things put on again.   “How is Peeta?” I ask.  “Have you talked to him?”  A week has passed since Peeta and I last spoke.  I’d called around the following day to thank him for the cake but he wasn’t home so I made do with a note under his door.   I haven’t seen him leave or return home from the bakery although I know from Johanna that he’s working regular hours. The only visible evidence I have that he’s still in the Village is that the primrose bushes have been pruned recently. Not through all our ups and downs has Peeta neglected the bushes.  Obviously, he did it when I wasn’t around to see it.   He seems to be avoiding me and I don’t know why.  I can’t think of anything I’ve done to upset him.   Before he answers, Haymitch takes a moment to toss the empty pizza box in the general vicinity of a pile of discarded food containers by the window.  Even from this distance, I can see a trail of ants making their way down the wall possibly in anticipation of yet another feast.  In less than an hour they’ll be swarming over the box, picking over the remnants and transporting them back to their nest.   Perhaps this is Haymitch’s idea of cleaning.  Have the ants do it.   “Saw him the day before yesterday.  Had dinner after watching the tape.  Johanna cooked.  I wish she’d let Peeta do it.   He’s a much better cook, but she insisted.  She fusses over him like a mother hen and I think it’s starting to get on his nerves.    But he’s fine, all things considered.  Just very down.  Stares into space when he thinks no one’s looking. But no flashbacks or signs of serious depression.  Keeping busy and sticking to a routine has helped.” I let this sink in.  My initial reaction is to feel hurt that I wasn’t invited to have dinner with them.  It’s irrational,of course.   I’m the one who distanced myself.  And I was busy this weekend anyway.  But I do miss it.  All of us together.   “He’s keeping up with the tapes, then?” “Yeah, although it’s going over old territory if you ask me.  Mostly it’s promotional footage, Capitol parties, various interviews.”  That could explain why I haven’t seen him.  Maybe it’s Cressida and media attention he wants to avoid.  The camera crew are everywhere.  I even saw one of them filming the Village, for no particular reason that I could make out, and paying extra attention to Peeta’s house and mine.   Haymitch drains the last of his bottle and reaches for another beside his chair and gives the top a twist.  “He showed interest in one of them.  The start of the Victory Tour – when you came running out of your house to push him into the snow.” “Ha ha.” I say caustically, giving Haymitch’s joke the response it deserves.   I think back to that day.  Making the most of my remaining hours of freedom: in the woods checking the snare lines; a change of clothes at my old house in the Seam; a visit to Hazelle; and lastly, calling in on Haymitch.    I’d promised to wake him an hour before the cameras came.  It seemed that he’d also asked Peeta, because he showed up at the same time.  To say it was chilly between us is putting it mildly.  Peeta barely looked at me.  When I got home President Snow was waiting for me with his threats.  Convince the districts, convince me that Peeta and I were madly in love, or Gale was dead, with others to follow.  There was no way to warn Peeta, but I was sure he’d perform well anyway.  And he did. Our first kiss in months and no one could have guessed that he was acting – not even me if I hadn’t known better. I ask “Did he remember it?” “Parts of it.  The cameras, falling in the snow, some of what we discussed before Effie and the prep teams arrived.” “You and Peeta?”  I feel a flash of resentment that they had had this discussion without me, but then remember that I walked out soon after Peeta got there. Haymitch probably wanted to talk to us both.  “What about?” “That he needed to change his attitude. Reminded him that the romance was his idea.  That you kept him alive and would’ve died with him, rather than take the victory for yourself.  How imperative it was to keep up the act or people would die.”

It fits.  On the train journey to 11, Peeta apologised to me, acknowledged my actions had kept us alive, and that we should try being friends.   

“That’s what he remembered,” continues Haymitch.  “What he forgot was what I said about you being in a different place than him.  That he had this crush long before the Games even started, whereas for you the romance was a strategy that the two of us cooked up.  And from where I was sitting, I saw a boy who was head-over-heels and a girl who was getting there.  That all she needed was time and patience but if he continued to sulk – “ A conversation between Haymitch and me just before Peeta and I reunited on stage after winning the Games.  About convincing everyone that the trick with the berries was motivated by love.   “Did you tell Peeta this?” “Don’t have to. He’s already there.”  “But you think I’m not?” So that’s what Haymitch meant.   He knew before I did.  Finnick too.   I interrupt. “What did he say?” “That he wished he had known.  That’s all.”  Haymitch gazes thoughtfully down at his bottle.  “It occurred to me that maybe, if this memory was distorted or erased – “ “He’d believe I hadn’t loved him but it was important for us to be friends,” I say, finishing the thought for him.  There’s some logic to it.  I can imagine the half-memory sticking up like a tree root waiting to trip Peeta up.  And then skewing every memory, and every thought he’s had about me since. “It’s a wild guess, but not impossible.  And it’s not like there’s any other ideas.  I should run it past Aurelius.  See what he thinks.” “Do it,” I say.  “At the very least, it can’t hurt.”   The more information Dr Aurelius has the better he can help Peeta. It won’t help me though.  Peeta wouldn’t be mourning the loss of Lace if he didn’t love her.  Or make him love me. Haymitch nods, takes a drink from his bottle, and then goes back to contemplating its depths as if somehow the answers can be found there.  I take this as a signal that the conversation is over and start to rise from the couch when his voice freezes me in place. “So, what’s the stupid thing you’ve done that’s made you worry about Cressida?” I hoped he’d forgotten about that.  Because the “stupid thing” is something I definitely can’t confide in Haymitch about.   “I haven’t done anything,” I say, scowling at him.  “It’s just that I wanted your advice on whether I should be on my guard.  She tried to involve me in the interviews with Marcus. Like I’d be standing well to the side and then she’d ask me a question, and then the cameras would swing over to me. She says she won’t use it but after what happened to Johanna . . .” “If that’s all there is, you’ll be OK.   Even if they do use it and the public wants more, there’s nothing either Cressida or Plutarch can do about it.  No one could say you deliberately set out to draw attention to yourself.  You were just doing a job.   That’s where Johanna went wrong.  She was trying to attract publicity.  And there’s no scandal attached to you and Marcus either – that’s another way they can get around it.  They’ll say they’re reporting on him and you’re merely collateral damage.  So, unless you get caught with your pants down, you haven’t a thing to worry about.”  Haymitch regards me with amusement.  “Or have you? Been caught with your pants down, that is?” “Of course not!” I splutter indignantly. My face burns and it must surely be a bright shade of red.  “I’d never – “ “Calm down, sweetheart.  It was only a joke,” he says, shaking his head.  And then to show how funny he thinks he is; he breaks out laughing.  I judge it to be a good time to leave.   I wander around the Village for a little while.  I want to talk to Johanna.  She’d understand.  But Peeta might come to the door and then how to get Johanna alone without being rude. At home, Marcus has his own worry and I don’t want to add to it by talking about it.   Eventually, I take refuge in my favourite thinking spot; my front porch. And I then I try as hard as I can to reassure myself that I’m worrying over nothing but without much success.   How could we have been so careless? I hadn’t seen much of Cressida during the week.  She’d been busy working on a separate feature on 12’s recovery from the war. She even visited the school.  Mr Matson obligingly gave her a tour and allowed the cameras into the classrooms.  Max made sure to get his face on camera, of course.  When I saw them heading in the direction of my classroom, I locked the door and pulled down the blind.  “Shh,” I said to the kids, “let’s pretend we’re not here.” They thought it was a great game. For the new national park, she wanted to interview Marcus in a series of locations similar to what she did of Gale and me when we returned to bombed-out 12 for some unscripted interviews.   In this case, we’d be following the new trails Marcus had surveyed ending with the lake.  But, because it was unlikely that we would get back before nightfall, it was decided to camp at the lake overnight and return to town the next day.   I was hesitant to go.  I knew it was in my best interests to stay as far from the cameras as possible.  But Marcus said it didn’t feel right for me not to be there since I had played such a large part in it.  And because Marcus and I don’t have much time left together and Cressida had assured me that the attention would be on Marcus anyway, I allowed myself to be persuaded.    Marcus led the way.  Our first stop was at the top of a ridge which Marcus has designated for a lookout. It was a welcome relief to drop my heavy pack to the ground after the long climb and have a long cool drink while Cressida conducted the interview.  The blackberry bushes were heavy with fruit and I positioned myself in front of them.  From there I was away from the cameras but could still watch and gorge myself on berries at the same time.   “Katniss, close by is the very spot where I interviewed you and your hunting partner, Gale Hawthorne, as part of a feature we did on District 12 not long after it was destroyed by enemy bombs.  I got the impression that these woods are very special to you.   What are your feelings about it becoming a national park?” Suddenly all eyes and two camera lenses were on me.  I tried to hide by retreating backwards but was met by a wall of prickles from the blackberry bushes.  Cressida waited expectantly. “Ah, well, you know, times change. I guess from a personal standpoint it’s a big adjustment, but if it ensures that the woods will be protected it’s all worthwhile.” Cressida nodded and turned back to Marcus to continue her questions.  Messalina, her assistant, scribbled something in her notebook.   From there it was easy walking along the ridge and my mind wandered to other times I’d come this way - with my father, by myself, with Gale, and most recently with Marcus.  Before long many feet will trace these same steps and I was overcome by sadness that my beloved woods would no longer be mine.  Even with just these five people, it feels like a violation.   The woods have been my sanctuary.  Would I ever find another? “A coin for your thoughts.”  Startled, my head jerked towards the sound.  Cressida was beside me.  Last time I looked; she had been walking up front with Marcus.  She must have hung back and waited for me.   I didn’t really know what to make of Cressida.   In 13, I had admired her calmness under pressure and the pride she took in her work. It reminded me of Cinna and I thought that if she and I were in the arena together, I would pick her as an ally. But that was before Prim was killed. I can’t be sure, but I suspect she informed Plutarch of our whereabouts that day.  If Snow was telling the truth that Plutarch was behind the bombing that killed Prim, then that makes her complicit in some way.  Maybe not intentionally, but she played a part in much the same way as Gale did.   At the very least it proved to me that Cressida’s loyalty isn’t to me, but to Plutarch and the story she’s chasing.  And then there’s Johanna.  Was it really an accident that Plutarch got hold of that interview? “I was just thinking of how things have changed,” I answered.  There, honest but not too revealing.   Nothing that Cressida could take much from.  I was wrong. “Since we last came this way?” she asked, looking down at the ground. “This must be very difficult for you, more or less following the same route we did for the interviews that day – dredging up memories of times and people lost.” She hesitated for a moment, as if pondering the wisdom of her next words.   “I’m sorry if my relationship with Gale has added to that in any way.  I – “ “It doesn’t,” I interjected before she could say more.  “Gale and I weren’t meant to be together.  I’m happy for you both.  Truly.” Her face cleared.  “That’s what Gale said.  But I wondered . . .” I said nothing because there was nothing to say.   I was a little miffed that Gale had dismissed me so easily.  I thought he should at least have some regret for what could have been.  I was glad that I hadn’t wasted my time fretting over him. “Peeta, then?” “Huh?” The question took me by surprise. “I wasn’t actually thinking about him.” “It would be understandable if you were.  I know I can’t help thinking of that time and of our purpose here.  Do you remember the appeal you made to him from where his parents’ bakery once stood?  If I were asked to choose one propo above the rest, that would be it.   The carnage, the desolation, the utterly incomprehensible loss of life was encapsulated in that short piece.” “Yeah, I guess.”  Personally, I thought they were all awful but perhaps Cressida takes a film maker’s view of things and she judges the artistic merit.   “They still speak of you in the Districts, you know.  You and Peeta.  You haven’t been forgotten.” I shrugged in response.  How could we be forgotten when some of our fellow victors have pursued a life in the public gaze? Our very absence would give rise to speculation – rather like those shows you sometimes see on TV “where are they now?”  At least we’re spared media attention.  That’s something to be grateful for. Cressida went on.  “Your love story struck a chord with the public consciousness that shows no sign of abating.  It represents so many things to people.  How love and hope endure.  Rebirth instead of destruction.  The promise that life can go on, no matter how bad our losses.  That it can be good again.  It – “ “Does it?” I asked, cutting her off. “Well, if they want to keep on believing in that nonsense, I can’t stop them.  I need to take a toilet break.  Excuse me.” Ignoring Cressida’s shocked expression I left her to go in search of a tree.  Why did she have to tell me that?  It’s everything that Peeta’s love would have meant to me too.   And I’m so tired of people and their expectations.  Peeta and I represent nothing.  Nothing! Except maybe that nothing lasts and hope is a stupid illusion for stupid people.   I went through the motions of relieving myself although I didn’t really need to, but it gave me time to calm myself before I rejoined the others.   When we stopped for lunch, I made sure to sit next to Pollux.  We exchanged smiles but that was the end of any kind of conversation.  An avox, Pollux can’t talk and that suited me just fine.  Marcus sent a smile my way and then went back to talking to Cressida.   Messalina was occupied with her notebook.  The remaining member of our party, Remus, was making adjustments to his insect shell – the name I gave the camera equipment that wraps around the bodies of the camera crew.  I disliked Remus on sight with his small shifting eyes that seem to take in everything.   He was the one I saw filming the Village. It was late afternoon when we arrived at the lake but there was still sufficient light for Cressida to do her interview.  I overheard her tell Pollux and Remus she’d like some additional film of the lake the following morning but otherwise we were done.  I would’ve liked to have taken a walk with Marcus around the lake but we were supposed to appear as if our relationship was strictly a working one. He didn’t want the same thing that happened with Johanna to happen to us.  So, when we gathered around the campfire that night for supper, we sat opposite each other.  And when we retired for the night in the concrete house our sleeping mats were as far apart as we could make them.  Not that there was any chance of us getting close – not with Cressida and Messalina there too. Pollux and Remus shared a tent just outside the house.  One of them snored like a chainsaw which Messalina complained about incessantly.   I don’t know who kept me awake the longest – Messalina or the snorer. When the first thin rays of sunlight fell across the concrete house, Cressida and Messalina were dead to the world.  Marcus was already up, dressed and putting on his boots.  He put his finger to his lips and pointed to the door.   I nodded and wiggled out of my sleeping bag.  It took only a minute to find my trousers, shirt and boots and join him outside.  It was my favorite time of the day: the sun just peeking over the horizon; birds caroling the new day; the air so fresh and clean.   The tent was zipped shut; loud snores rumbled from within.  Carefully, we walked past until we were out of earshot.  “Why don’t I search for firewood while you fetch water from the spring?” said Marcus.   “Ok,” I replied, intrigued.  There were logs stacked behind the house and we had brought water in with us.  Nevertheless, I took a couple of empty water bottles and started out for the spring.  It was familiar to us both as Marcus had noted it as a feature on one of the walking tracks and I had long used it as a water source.   It was only about six minutes’ walk away; five, if you don’t count the short stop behind a rhododendron bush to attend to nature.  The spring gushes from the side of a foothill into a brook that feeds into the lake. It’s the sweetest water imaginable and I helped myself to a long cool draught.   And then I waited . . . and waited.  I was about to give up when I caught a glimpse of his khaki shirt through the underbrush.

“What’s this about?  Aren’t we supposed – “ I began.   His answer was to pull me hard against him and capture my lips in a kiss.  It took me by surprise after everything he had said about the importance of maintaining appearances.    But after that first shock, I took fire and answered him in kind, wrapping my arms around his neck and pressing into him, straining to get closer. His belt buckle dug painfully into my ribs.  It had to go.  While I struggled with it, he reached beneath my shirt with one hand to fondle my breast.  My feet started to lose traction and I realized he was pushing me backwards and upwards until I was elevated slightly, my back against a large oak, my feet resting precariously on a root flare.   The belt taken care of, I started on the button and zipper on his trousers.  He did the same with mine, pulling down trousers and underwear in one swift motion.  And then we were both free, his hardness nudging between my legs. “I’m sorry, I can’t – “I panted.  My feet were shackled by my clothes and I was unable to spread my legs wide enough to allow him entry.   Frantically, a boot was unlaced, tossed aside and a trouser leg pulled down over my foot.   Unhampered now, I hooked a leg around his waist and with one smooth powerful thrust he was all the way inside, one hand on my breast, the other braced against the tree, his mouth covering mine.   It felt so, so good.  I could have stayed impaled against that tree forever.  That is, until he started pounding his hips into me.  The rough bark of the oak stabbed into my lower back with each thrust.  It was lucky my shirt tail covered my naked behind or splinters might have been a problem too.  Marcus enjoyed himself though.  I could tell from his breathing that he was close.  But then it happened.   A loud snap.  It was unmistakable.  We both heard it.  Even Marcus, occupied as he was.  Our heads spun trying to locate the source of the sound.  But there was nothing to see; only trees and low bushes. “It was probably just a falling branch,” said Marcus.  He didn’t sound confident. “Yeah, probably,” I agreed, even though a falling branch would also have made a crashing sound as it hit the ground.       Neither of us were at ease and the moment was lost.  Marcus slipped out of me and we put our clothes back in order.  I retrieved the full water bottles and headed back to camp. Marcus returned separately with the bundle of firewood he’d collected before he joined me at the spring. Our fellow campers were as we had left them. Cressida, laid out like a starfish on her back.  Messalina, huddled under her sleeping bag.   The tent still zippered up, the snorer still snoring.  But by the lake, in full insect shell, was Remus with his camera trained on an ibis feeding in the shallows in the early light.  On my approach, he gave a small wave before he returned to his work.  But on his face, was a small, but undeniable smirk.  

[floosies]

bury a friend: The Birth of Adelasia

pairing: platonic!steve rogers x possessed!oc x mcu!au x romantic!bucky barnes

summary: there have been sightings of a dark creature who vanishes with night and in the mornings only remains of once living people are found scattered in open fields or forests nearby.

warnings: mentions of abuse, mentions of attempted suicide, violence, gore, cursing, mentions/scenes of sexual nature.

Please read with discretion. 18+ content.

A/N: This is my first attempt at something more dark. It’s been in my brain since hearing some of biilie’s works and quiet frankly I want to venture into new territory. However, I understand the severity of some topics that I will write about. If you or someone you know is in need please look at these resources

Tags: @indecisivedolly

Part 9: renovamen (renewal)

Her decision came after pleading and debating. Her great future awaited her, of course she did not believe it would come. Nothing had ever been great for, it was always a battle with sweet moments that contorted to some sort of painful reminder of what never was. Yet here she was awake and the man who loathed her the most was sat at her bedside. 

The moment did not last, he was practically tossed out of the room. Doctors surrounding her, “Miss Plutarch-” “It’s not Plutarch it’s Barnett.” They all looked alarmed at her. After several questions and answers, they let her see her reflection, her eyes were a hazel green now, her hair darker and longer. How peculiar. Soon another doctor came in, however this doctor was not in medical gear or in a lab coat, she was however with doctor Banner, “how ya holding up Noctua.” His voice was soft, not out of worry, he was just a gentle man. She smiled, “it’s Adelasia now. My parents told me my birth name while I was in limbo.” The doctor looked at Banner with concern, he shrugged at her.

She read their minds, “I did not intend on killing myself. It was not a suicide mission.” The doctor gave Adelasia a look of sympathy, Banner gave her a sad smile. “Doctor Lewis is an old friend of mine, she just wants to help ya out kiddo. I myself got help from her, I know there’s more going on in that head of yours.” The young witch could not deny his truth, but usually these matters would be handled privately between her and a slow, meticulously killing of a predator. Then a good cry and some sleep, however she supposed she entertain the poor woman.

Banner left them to speak. The burgundy coat that sat on her arm was placed on a chair, “Adelasia right?” She nodded watching as she sat on the chair, “I can see you read my mind. So you know why the team was worried about your decision making.” The team, the people who were supposed to become her friends, “you can read my mind, but I can’t read yours unfortunately.” Her gaze fell on her again, her brown eyes holding a look of patience, “right. It was quick thinking. The decision came down to being shot because there was nothing to prevent it, even if I moved there would still be some kind of wound-” “presumably the wound would have been less deadly though, right?” She was never really one for crudeness, but fuck this lady. What was she trying to do?  

Anger began to bubble in her, “Wanda needed to be protected from it. I wouldn’t let her get hurt,” she spoke trying to maintain her cool. Lewis looked at her, she was trying to decipher what was going on, “so you were protecting your friend, but decided to do so by having her leave you behind to die? When you had told the team you could always use your powers if things got difficult.” What could she say, except “I do not need to explain myself to you-” “What about them? What about Wanda? She felt guilt for letting you go through with your plan or Steve who felt responsibility for allowing you to attend. Bucky and Sam looked after you the whole flight back to the compound, you may feel that these people do not care for you, but their actions say other wise.” 

In an hour of speaking, Doctor Lewis felt that Adelasia was dealing with serious depression and problems regarding trust. It was evident from her upbringing that many factors had led to her mental issues. Oddly enough, she understood that this girl could see things many couldn’t including spirits. They made a promise that knowing this now, they would use it as a way for her to better herself. What an odd thing, but it was suited for her personally. Another meeting was arranged for the following Monday. With that, she was allowed to return to her room.

Being in the living world again made her realize her room was very dark in tone. Perhaps she should take time to revive it. Though some had left to another mission, Wanda had stayed behind. When she heard that her friend was in her room again, she went straight to visit her. Opening the door, she was greeted to a whole new atmosphere. There was a whole garden in the room, like something from Narnia. “Noctua?” From some tall grass her head popped out, “Wanda!” Carefully, she walked over to the older witch and embraced her. 

On the other side of the world. Bucky cleared his dingy motel room in the outskirts of Italy. The mission was not as quick as they hoped for. Tony was in the room over making his nightly call to Pepper. Steve went to shower and Thor had promised to return by morning from where ever he flew off to. A strong tired feeling over took him and as soon as he hit the old mattress he was fast asleep. His dreams were not his, these were someone else’s memories. They were sweet and happy memories. Then he saw her, or at least he thought it was here. No it was, he could tell her apart from the other girls in the circle, what was this?

Cake suddenly appeared, the girls were in some beautiful home now. She was sat at the end of a table. Every one in the room wearing victorian clothing. Perhaps this was her home once. He wondered how old she was here, what birthday she was celebrating. Suddenly he was on a beach, he could hear her crying. He saw her holding something or someone in her arms. As he neared her, he could see it was a young girl, she was pale and blue. Bucky wanted to comfort her, but as he reached for her she began to further away from his grasp. Her cries growing louder, and the beach becoming even more distant. It was then when he woke up with a gasp.

Piano keys gently played in the garden she’d created. Sat on soft grasses the few that were at the compound had gathered to hear her play. She suggested it as an apology, and better to let her than to argue. It was beautiful, she could tell everyone was memorized by the light sounding piece. Nat was especially moved, it reminded her of an innocence that she’d once held. When it was over and she turned most of the room back into a bedroom, a conversation started. It was a mostly calm conversation until Peter unintentionally mentioned the elephant in the room, “I’m so glad you’re alive. They were saying it looked really bad for a while,” the faces turned to him with a stern look except hers. “I’m glad i’m alive too. I’m sorry for worrying you.” She laughed lightly before continuing, “I- I did’t think you would actually hold such concern towards me. We were still practically strangers, I presumed.” She meant no harm by her comments, but when she saw they were not laughing off her comments she realized perhaps she was wrong. 

Wanda spoke candidly, “we are not strangers. You are our part of our team now, we look out for each other. Always,” the others nodded and mumbled agreements. “Ms. Adelasia? Right?” Peter asked before speaking, she nodded giving him a soft smile, “you’re the kindest person I’ve ever met and you saved my life. I’m really glad you’re here.” Sam had few words but they were all kind, he was mushy mess internally, externally he wanted to look cool. Of course it was Nat’s words that made her cry, “they’re all right. You have been a new breath of life in this odd ball group. Whether or not they were all scared of you at first or not, it doesn’t matter. You risked your life for the greater good, you proved you care and are willing to sacrifice yourself to save the world. Adelasia, we will always look out for you. We’re a family, it’s what we do.” She took her hand then, holding it gently as a way to affirm her words.

She didn’t feel the need to rest, her body had rested for two weeks. In fact she felt a vigor to create. So while the others slept she teleported to her favorite place, France. Of course she only went for some supplies before returning back to her room. A sense of light felt like it was shining through her, as if saying this was who she was meant to be. It was beautiful. 

As the days turned into some weeks, she wondered when the others would return. Wonder did not last, as intelligence came of their mission. They had successfully completed it. No deaths, but some injuries. Her heart raced at the idea of seeing him again. Should she dare ask why he was sat beside her in that medical room? What was he thinking? Did he still loathe her as she assumed? The days and nights filled with these kinds of thoughts were dwindled as the realization of their return neared. When the day came and she caught his gaze from the entrance hallway, her heart raced once more. Little did she know his heart raced just as much.

[waltzofthewifi]

Kota Chapter 34: Gifts and Presences

Table of Contents | Beginning

"Think about it," Alix said. "You said that you can use your phone without worrying about monsters because your sister's friend fixed it somehow. Well, who do we know that is intelligent enough to do that, who owns technology that you've used without attracting monsters?"

"Max?" Lacy asked. "What does that have to do with Kim?"

"If Kim was a demigod, who would he tell first?" Alix questioned. "Max."

"But he's above the claiming age," Lacy argued. "If he's a Greek demigod, then why hasn't he been at camp?"

There were exceptions to the rule - an over-protective family, like what Alya has, or some weird prophecy thing, like what happened to Piper and Leo. But if Kim theoretically already knew he was a demigod, then they wouldn't apply.

"Who said anything about being a Greek demigod?" Alix said. "There are plenty of pantheons he could be a part of."

"Yeah, but I don't think they have the same problem," Lacy said.

"Maybe not. But with the way Max researches, he might have stumbled upon the idea anyways."

"You have a point," Lacy said. "But it doesn't seem like enough proof to me."

"I also know that he never met his dad," Alix said. "But that his dad is alive."

"That's true for lots of people," Lacy reasoned.

"I'm just saying, it adds up," Alix argued.

Lacy glanced back at Kim, who was joking with Rose and Juleka. He did remind her of some of the kids at camp - but that didn't mean anything.

"We could always just ask him," Alix said.

"True," Lacy agreed. "But not today. When he's in a better mood."

Someone tapped on Lacy's window, and she opened it see Ladybug waiting for her, box in hand.

"Is it my turn?" Lacy asked as she let Ladybug in.

Ladybug nodded. "You understand the responsibility behind having your miraculous permanently?"

Lacy nodded, rocking up onto her toes in excitement.

Ladybug handed her the box, and Lacy opened it up.

"Finally!" Orikko said, zooming out. "It's been so long since I've been outside for more than just an akuma."

"I'll make sure to give you the grand tour," Lacy responded. "Ooh, can I transform just to go running on rooftops?"

"Yes!" Orikko said.

"As long as it doesn't interfere with your other responsibilities," Ladybug answered. "Chat Noir and I are going on patrol, would you like to join?"

"Yes!"

"Alright, suit up."

.

Patrolling was awesome.

Kota had never been able to run so fast. The cold air against her face was rejuvenating. And Paris looked so pretty at night from the rooftops.

She followed Chat Noir on his usual patrol path. He was willing to indulge in Kota's want to go fast, and to climb things for no reason than just to climb them. In fact, he was enjoying himself just as much as she was.

They met up with Ladybug, followed by Pegasus, on the Eiffel Tower. The view was beautiful, and while the rest of the superheroes talked, Kota just stared out onto the city.

She could get used to this.

.

Fu had not been exaggerating about Orikko.

Right at sunrise the next day, he opened his mouth and screamed.

Lacy threw a pillow at him to shut him up.

"You're going to wake my parents," she hissed.

"Sorry," Orikko said, in a way that made her think he was going to do the same exact thing tomorrow.

Lacy readjusted her pillows with the intent to go back to sleep.

"Well, get up!" Orikko said. "The sun is shining, the birds are singing, and you have things to do!"

Lacy groaned. "It's too early."

"It's dawn," Orikko said. "And you have the miraculous of dawn. This is your time of day!"

Lacy intended on ignoring him, but she did feel strangely awake, and Ladybug said she could transform if it didn't interfere with her responsibilities.

"Okay," Lacy repented. "You feel up to transforming?"

"Always," Orikko said.

"Great. Orikko, sun up!"

.

Lacy arrived at class grinning.

Going out as Kota was fun. Plus, she had had time to eat a good breakfast and finish up a homework assignment that wasn't due until tomorrow. Waking up early felt nice.

"You okay?" Alix asked. "You never look this awake this early."

"Yeah, just slept good last night," Lacy replied.

She wasn't that early anyways. The other two chronic over sleepers - Adrien and Marinette - had already arrived. Adrien and Nino were watching something on Nino's phone, and Marinette was having an intense discussion with Alya and Mylene.

Kim leaned forward from his desk. "You still up for our bet Friday, Lace?"

"Oh, I'm ready," Lacy replied.

"I calculate a ninety percent chance that Kim will win," Max said.

Alix snickered. "Yeah right."

"Kim will win what?"

Lacy startled, not having seen Marinette approach their desk.

"Win against Lacy in a rock climbing race," Kim said.

Marinette looked Lacy over, and then Kim.

"Okay, I want to see that," she decided.

"I'm always up for seeing Kim lose a bet," Chloe added.

"Okay, one, I'm not going to lose," Kim replied. "And two, why does everyone want me to lose?"

"If you're willing to buy your own tickets, then I'm fine with you tagging along," Alix said.

"Ooh, maybe Alya can video it?" Lacy said.

"You're very confident," Max noted.

Lacy shrugged. "Just thought it would be cool to have it recorded."

"I'll ask her," Marinette said. "Anyways, I had something else I wanted to ask you girls about. It's Kagami's birthday tonight, and we managed to convince her mom to let her stay at my place as a birthday celebration. Now, her mom thinks it's just us two, but we're actually planning another mass sleepover."

"I'm in," Lacy said.

"Same," Alix said.

"Chloe?" Marinette asked.

Chloe spluttered. "You want me to come?"

"The more the merrier!" Marinette replied. "As long as you think you can behave yourself."

"Well, I can't stay the night," Chloe said. "But I might pop in to say hello and bring a gift."

"Oh, Kagami said no presents," Marinette replied. "But I'm sure she'd appreciate a card or something. Sabrina?"

"Oh, I can't," Sabrina replied. "Family obligations. Tell her I said happy birthday for me!"

"I will!" Marinette replied. "See you there!"

.

Lacy was surprised to see her dad already home from work when she got home.

"I'm taking Elisabeth out on a surprise date," he explained.

"Aww," Lacy cooed.

"You're good for dinner?" Her dad asked. "I know you texted me about the sleepover."

"I'm heading over as soon as I pack my stuff," Lacy said. "It's at Marinette's, so we'll be good for food."

"Just remember, it's a school day tomorrow," her dad said.

"I'll be back before school," Lacy said.

Her dad raised an eyebrow.

"I tried a new alarm clock this morning," Lacy said. "Worked like a charm."

"That's good."

Speaking of her alarm clock, she needed some way of making sure Orikko wouldn't start screaming at tonight's sleepover.

"If I bring a small pillow, can you scream into that?" Lacy asked when she reached her bedroom. "To not wake any of the other girls?"

"I'm a rooster, I'm not screaming into a pillow," Orikko argued. "I'll just find some small secluded room to scream in."

"Okay, but don't wake anyone else up," Lacy stressed.

"Yeah, yeah, you aren't my first chick with a secret identity," Orikko said. "I'm very subtle when I need to be."

Lacy doubted it, but she guessed she'd find out in the morning.

.

Rose, Juleka, Mylene, Alya, Marinette, Lacy, and Alix all made the sleepover. Chloe arrived mid-dinner, and agreed to stay for dessert.

After dinner, Marinette's parents brought out a huge cake, and Lacy brought out her camera.

Kagami looked overwhelmed. "No one's ever baked me a cake before."

"Any friend of Marinette's is worthy of Dupain-Cheng cake," Marinette's dad said.

"Make a wish!" Marinette said.

"Huh?"

"You're suppose to make a wish," Marinette said. "Before blowing the candles out."

"But you can't tell us what it is," Rose added. "Or else it won't come true!"

"Okay." Kagami closed her eyes and blew the candles out.

Lacy snapped a photo.

Everyone got a slice of cake, and they abandoned the dinner table to gather around the living room.

"You know, I've been thinking of joining an exercise class," Marinette said. "Any suggestions?"

"You could take a dance class with me," Mylene said.

"Or you could take archery lessons with me," Kagami added. "It's not as aerobic, but it takes lots of muscle strength and focus."

"I could teach you to roller skate," Alix added.

"Ooh, I know," Alya said. "Nora's making me take this self-defense seminar next weekend. You totally should come with!"

"That actually sounds like a great idea," Mylene said. "I might see if I could come."

"I think it's a great idea for all of us," Kagami agreed. "I'll see if I can convince my mother to let me come."

"Let's do it," Marinette said.

.

Marinette woke that morning to the distant sound of someone screaming.

It was faint, and muffled, and no one seemed to stir at the sound, but Marinette didn't want to ignore it if someone was in trouble.

She slowly stood up and started tiptoeing to the stairs.

"Marinette? What are you doing up?"

Marinette turned to see Lacy sitting up.

Oh, right. Lacy had Orikko with her, and Orikko screamed in the morning. In fact, it was miracle that it sounded so muffled, and the only reason it woke Marinette up was that she hadn't trained herself to sleep through akumas.

"Bathroom," Marinette lied.

"Oh, okay." Lacy didn't sound convinced, being a walking lie detector, but she had never been one to push. "I think I'm going for a run."

"This early?" Marinette questioned.

"Yeah, it helps me focus during school, I think."

"Okay, just be careful."

Marinette went upstairs just long enough to make her cover story seem realistic, before heading back down stairs.

She prodded Alya awake.

"I just saw a hero run by," Marinette whispered. "Want to go hero hunting?"

"Do I ever?"

.

"Guess who just got an interview with the newest hero?" Alya announced, waving her phone around.

"Kota?" Kim asked. "Or the mouse one?"

"Kota," Alya confirmed. "I caught her while she was out patrolling this morning."

The class all crowded around the phone. Lacy peaked over Alix's shoulder, curious as how she looked on camera.

Alya pressed play, but the video was instantly interrupted with a phone call.

"It's from Nathaniel," Alya said.

"Nath?" Alix asked. "But he hates calling people."

Alya answered and put it on speaker.

"What's up?"

"We're trapped in an akuma attack."

Next Chapter

[firesoulstuff]

Diamonds in the Rough

Captain Canary Secret Santa Time! Merry Christmas @stillthewordgirl!

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21941593

Leonard doesn’t understand a single thing about this place.

This orphanage, foster home, or whatever the hell it is. He was told it’s a refuge, but a refuge for what he isn’t clear on. Nor is he clear on why the hell he’s here.

A few weeks ago he was in a footrace trying to get away from the cops, and the next thing he knew some woman in a black leather trench coat attacked him. Of course that isn’t even the strangest part. No, some other woman in a white leather trench coat then came out of nowhere and attacked the first woman, and he ran right into a blinding light and woke up on a space ship with some girl named Sara only two years younger than him, and Mick. The three of them - along with three babies - were brought here by some people his more imaginative side is convinced are them from the future and left to help this woman Mary Xavier tend to her brood of orphans.

Mary is a mystery all her own, one which he can’t seem to crack. She seems to know everything, and she’ll tell nothing. Yet, a few days ago, she pulled him aside and informed him that Sara shares her birthday with Christmas.

“Just in case that interests you.” She’d said, a smartass gleam in her eye that only an old woman can pull off. He’d shrugged off the information at first, he didn’t care, but wherever this refuge is it isn’t July here, and Christmas is evidently drawing closer.

Sara, undoubtedly, helps the most with taking care of the kids out of the three of them. He has seen her up early with babies, late with nightmares, and she wipes at least one sticky face after every mealtime. Now that Christmas is coming the kids are more rambunctious than usual, and Sara is almost always corralling them into crafts or Santa wish lists. He’s sure this is what it’s like for her every year. Maybe not so many kids involved, but ginger bread houses and everyone writing lists instead of balloons and a cake just for her. The kids are all about baking cookies and decorating the house with paper snowflakes and garland. No streamers or cards for their newest – and by far most attentive – babysitter.

So here he is, at two in the morning on Christmas day, in the house’s kitchen and questioning all of his life’s choices.

Once he decided that Sara did, in fact, deserve for someone to do something for her birthday Mary convinced him to think of something to get for her. He couldn’t understand why, as there is literally NOTHING beyond this place. Nothing but a dense fog that leads nowhere except the other side of the property, like a wormhole.

He’s still trying to figure that out.

Yet somehow she managed to get Santa presents for the children, and once he realized that, well, he felt like not asking her to get him something to give to Sara was just a waste.

Once everything is set up in the kitchen he decides it’s now or never. He heads up the stairs to the top floor of the house. There are only three rooms up here; and clearly only one was actually designed as a bedroom. That one belongs the Mary. The other two are more small storage rooms with beds set up in them; one with a set of bunks for himself and Mick, and the other with a single bed for Sara. She sleeps with her door cracked open, far more trusting than he is.

He pokes the door open, relieved to find that she is alone. It isn’t unusual for one of the kids to crawl into bed with her, and she never seems to have the heart to kick them out. But it seems Christmas Eve and the promise of Santa Clause has managed to keep all the rugrats contained to their own rooms.

“Sara.” He whispers, loudly, and she starts awake with a jolt.

“Hm?” She hums, sitting up and blinking blearily at him. “What? Leonard? What’s going on?”

He cocks his head towards the hall, “Come on.”

“What?” She asks again, “What time is it?”

“A little after two.” He answers, “Follow me.”

She does. She grumbles the whole way about how this better be good, but she follows.

“Leonard what is going on?” She quietly demands as they slink down the staircase, avoiding every creaky floorboard they know of as so to keep from waking the kids.

He remains quiet the whole way to the ground floor, and then through the dining room and into the kitchen.

She follows him over to the counter, stopping on one side as he goes around to the other. He has a small cake set out; he’d used the smallest pan he could find. It’s covered rather messily in chocolate frosting with Happy Birthday Sara spelt out sloppily, not to mention tightly, on the face in red icing. He’d managed to find an entire package of birthday candles, so he puts four into the cake and then picks up the lighter.

Finally, before he lights the first candle, he looks up for Sara’s expression.

She has her eyebrows furrowed and her arms crossed, her puzzled gaze locked on the cake like she has never seen one before in her life.

Knowing what he does about her life before this place, he doubts that’s the case.

“Why?” She finally asks, upon realizing he’s staring at her.

He shrugs and starts lighting the candles.

“Those kids aren’t going to acknowledge it.” He says, and he flicks his eyes up to meet hers between lighting two of the candles. “Besides, you ever been to prison?”

She shakes her head, and he smirks; of course she hasn’t.

“When you’re in prison, if you ignore things like your birthday, things that you would be celebrating if you were on the outside; you run the risk of forgetting what the outside is like.” He explains, and with the last candle lit he puts down the lighter and meets her eyes. “I don’t know about you, but the last place I want to risk that in is this place.”

She holds his gaze a minute, a long minute, and then she blows out the four candles.

He claps, mostly out of humoring, and then picks up the knife to cut the cake.

“I tried to find some beer.” He says apologetically as she plucks a candle from the cake and pops the bottom into her mouth. “But I’m convinced alcohol is the one thing Mary doesn’t have anywhere in this place.” “It’s fine.”

They eat in relative silence, Sara commenting that the cake is actually good and he is definitely helping the next time the kids beg to make cookies. He promises to deny he even knows how to use an oven, she threatens she’ll offer to teach him. He drops the issue after that, and they return to quietly picking at their plates.

“I got you something too.” He finally says, reaching into his pocket.

“How?” She snorts, “You rob Mary?”

He pauses with his hand in his pocket, and smirks.

“Tried.” He admits, “Failed. But once I realized she had presents for the kids I asked her if she could get her hands on something for us.”

She raises an eyebrow at that, “Us?”

He rolls his eyes. “You, me, and Mick.” He clarifies, and he pulls out a small necklace threaded through a piece of cardboard.

It’s a simply necklace. A black chain with a dull, diamond shaped pendant.

“She wouldn’t tell me where she got these.” He says as he hands it to her. “But the three of them are connected. No matter where or… when… we are, if we touch these, it’ll light up the other two.”

She runs her thumb over the pendant, a small and almost wondrous smile on her face. That look on her face, a small part of him starts to wish he hadn’t asked for a necklace for Mick too. He wishes this could be theirs and only theirs, but they aren’t there.

They aren’t that.

Even if they were, which they’re not, it wouldn’t matter anyway. Mick is here too and he has to be pragmatic, thorough; he has to look out for all of them.

Judging by the teasing gleam in Sara’s eyes when she looks up, she knows all these things as well as he does.

“So what?” She asks, “Does this mean I’m a part of your and Mick’s little broody bunch?”

Hm, cute.

“It means I don’t hate you.” He says, “And I don’t know what’ll happen if those people with the spaceship ever some back. So, in the event we’re separated, I would like for us all to have a way of at least knowing each other is alive.”

Her face grows more serious when he mentions the people who brought them here. He knows she suspects the same as he does, that blonde woman had been the spitting image if her, just minus the bangs and youthful attitude. Not to mention the necklaces functioning “no matter when”.

Even so, the whole idea of the people being their future selves is impossible, and if there is one thing he doesn’t trust it’s the impossible.

With a decisive intake of breath Sara unravels the black chain and clasps it around her neck. Once that’s done she pulls her hair out of the chain and lets it fall back into place around her shoulders. She then, with her eyes darting down to her new accessory, reaches up and lays her fingers over the pendant.

He feels the faint twinge of warmth on his chest instantly, and looks down to see a soft glow of orange shining underneath his sleep shirt. He pulls his necklace out, and when he does he can see Sara’s black diamond turn identically orange under her fingertips.

There’s an understanding between them, right here and now. They’re in this together.

[winchester-books]

On My Own

Based On: The 100

Characters: Bellamy x Reader (kinda)

Warnings: Violence, Blood, Language

Word Count: 1600

Summary: Within the first two days back on Earth, Y/N is kidnapped by grounders and she has to fend for herself.

A/N: yay! finally writing myself a fic where the reader saves herself bc those don’t exist as much as they should.

Bellamy skidded to the ground as Finn shoved him down, “What do you mean, no?” Finn growled, glaring down at Bellamy as a crowd began to form around them, “Y/N’s one of us- we can’t just leave her out there to die!”

Bellamy pushed himself up, his face red with anger at Finn and the embarrassment of being shoved to the ground. He quickly composed himself, trying to appear as the harsh and powerful leader he made himself out to be, “You hear that?” He snapped, getting in Finn’s face as he pointed his finger at the dropship and the moaning coming from it, “That’s what happened the last time grounders got to us-”

“Exactly!” Finn interrupted, “Y/N could be dead for all we know, we need to go find her. We saved Jasper, we can save her too-”

“No,” Bellamy shook his head, “We got lucky with Jasper. If we do this, the risks are too high- it’s better to lose one person rather than thirty of us,” he explained, “I know, we all loved Y/N, but realistically, she’s already dead and it’s too dangerous for us to leave camp,”

-

Y/N groaned, her eyes fluttering open as they tried to adjust the the light. From what she could tell, she was a in some sort of cave. She looked down, noticing the chain around her ankle. What the hell? she thought, tugging at the chain.

She stood up, walking as far as the chain would allow, “Hello?” She called out, uncertainty evident in her voice, “What the hell’s going on?”

Suddenly a shadowy figure appeared a few feet away from her. She immediately stumbled back.

The figure slowly approached, clearly just as confused by Y/N as she was ingtriged by him, “You Skaikru?” He asked, leaning closer to her.

Y/N was too taken aback by the man’s presence to really listen his question. Reguardless, she didn’t know how to respond or what the hell a Skaikru was.

“You... You’re a grounder?” She stared in shock as the man towering above her, “But, they said everyone was dead...”

“You Skaikru?!” Y/N flinched as he repeated himself much more forcefully this time.

“I-Uh... Yes?” Y/N put her hands up, no clue what she was agreeing to.

“You answer my questions.” His tone made it clear that she would be in deep shit if she didn’t do as he said.

“Who are you?”

“M-my name’s Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N.” Her was voice came out shaky as he glared down at her.

“How many Skaikru are there?”

“I-I,” She shook your head, “I don’t know what you’re talking about,”

He slammed his hand onto the wall behind her, only inches from Y/N’s face, “How many?”

Y/N shut her eyes, racking her brain for an answer, knowing if she didn’t come up with something quickly it wouldn’t be the wall that the grounder was hitting. Skaikru? Skaikru... Oh! The dropship and the 100.

“A little less than 100.” She took a breath, hoping that was the answer he wanted to hear. “How many grounders are there?”

He leaned closer, roughly grabbing the collar of her shirt, “Only I ask questions!” He spat, “You answer me, then you die,”

Y/N’s face went white at the threat. She recoiled the moment he let go of her, any hope she had that the grounders weren’t a dangerous threat to the ark going out the window.

“Do you have weapons?”

Y/N hesitated, scanning the room for anything that could help her escape. Her eyes landed on a knife that was loosely holstered to the grounder’s waist. Even if she did manage to kill this man in front of her, she’d still have to deal with the chain around her ankle. Plus, there was probably more grounders outside. But, she had to take this opportunity, it could be her only chance to survive.

Y/N lunged forward, ripping the knife out of the holster and stabbing it towards the grounder. He was caught off guard as the knife slid into his stomach. He hissed, dropping to his knees and bringing his hands to his wound.

Y/N stared with wide eyes as the grounder sunk to the floor and went still. Her eyes went to her hands, which were dripping with warm blood. The knife clattered to the ground as she began to tremble, the realization of what she’d done registering in her brain. She’d just killed a man, his blood was on her hands.

She shook her head, holding back tears and forcing herself to take a deep breath. She couldn’t let herself freak out, not yet. She needed to escape.

She grabbed the knife off of the floor, sticking it into the lock around her ankle and jiggling it.

Click.

The lock popped open. She closed her eyes, sighing in relief as she ripped the chain off.

Y/N took another breath as she crept forward, cautious of running into another grounder. The cave seemed to be empty as she searched for the entrance.

Finally she saw it, the cave opened up into the woods, but there was a single grounder standing between her and her freedom. Luckily, his back was to her.

She tightened her grip on the knife in her bloody hands, swallowing thickly as she accepted what she had to do to survive. She ran at full speed, plunging the sharp tip into the grounder’s back. He yelled out in pain and surprise, falling forward by Y/N’s force.

Y/N sighed in relief, feeling a twinge of guilt as she pulled the knife out of his back and walked into the forest. Her fight wasn’t over yet, she needed to get back to camp.

One problem, Y/N had no idea which way camp was. She ran her hand through her hair, spinning around to look at the seemingly endless forrest around her. Which way? She shook her head. No time for overthinking, she had to pick a direction and start walking before any more grounders found her. She started jogging, praying that she picked the right path.

As she walked her actions replayed in her mind over and over like a bad movie. But it was real. She stabbed and killed two men- her blood soaked hands and clothing and served as a constant reminder to that. She squeezed her eyes shut and forced herself to take a shaky breath.

They were going to kill me. I had to, I didn’t have a choice. She told herself again and again until she started to believe it.

Y/N froze, swearing she heard what sounded like a laugh. Her heartbeat sped up as more voices filled the air. She started running towards the noises. Had she really made it back? Relief flooded her face as she saw Octavia.

“Octavia?” Y/N called out, still shocked that she’d managed to find her way back to the dropship, “O, is that really you?”

Octavia turned at the sound of the familiar voice, “Y/N?” She ran and pulled her into a hug, “Shit, Y/N what happened,” she said, pulling back and gesturing to Y/N blood stained appearance.

“We...” Y/N glanced around nervously, “We aren’t alone- there’s grounders here,”

She nodded, grabbing her hand, “Come on, we’ve been trying to build a wall to have some way to protect ourselves,” she explained as she pulled Y/N through the forest, “They got to Jasper too, but we found him just in time,” she paused for a moment, looking back at her with eyes full of pity, “I’m sorry we didn’t look for you Y/N,”

Y/N’s heart dropped for a second, they really hadn’t searched for her?

“Bellamy said it would be to dangerous...”

Octavia kept talking, but by that time, Y/N had stopped listening. She felt betrayed, Bellamy had left her to die. She’d really thought that Bellamy cared about her- apparently not.

The second that Y/N stepped into camp, conversations stopped and heads turned, everyone’s attention focused on her.

She didn’t pay the crowd any attention, her glare hardening as her eyes landed on Bellamy, his back towards her. She stormed towards him, the sense of anger and betrayal she felt overwhelming her. She shoved his shoulder harshly, waiting for him to turn around.

“Hey!” he trailed off as he turned to see Y/N’s blood caked face, “Y/N? You’re alive-” his eyes lit up, but Y/N didn’t care.

The whole camp was watching, half awestruck by the fact that Y/N was alive and the other half excitedly waiting for her to tear Bellamy a new one.

She reeled back, sending her fist into his jaw. He stumbled back, “Y/N! What the hell?”

“Yeah, I am alive,” she spat, “No thanks to you,” she gave him a tight-lipped smile that clearly was meant to offend him.

“Y/N, I-” He started to defend himself, but she quickly cut him off.

“Do you know what I had to do?” She fumed, gesturing to her ruined clothes and tainted hands, “I almost died! I had to kill two grounders!” She tossed the bloody knife to Bellamy’s feet.

Murmmers filled the crowd at Y/N’s words.

He raised his hands in surrender, “Y/N, I’m sorry-”

“Oh you’re sorry!” Y/N laughed, but there was no joy behind it, “Thank you! Honestly, that makes me feel so much better,” She said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

“I didn’t have a choice, it was too dangerous-”

“But it wasn’t dangerous when you went out searching for Jasper?” She snapped, raising a brow, “That makes perfect sense,”

“Y/N, I-”

“Thanks for looking for me Bellamy,” She said sarcastically, patting him on the chest as she walked off.