#this is the same shit people say about eleven from stranger things to justify their dislike of eleven/mike in favor of a different ship

[gracerings]

last thing I wanna do is get involved in ted lasso shipping discourse but I’ve been seeing a lot of ‘ted and rebecca shouldn’t end up together because she needs to focus on herself’ takes lately. and like. why. she has been focusing on herself. if we look at her character arc as her learning to love herself and prioritizing her individuality after losing herself in a toxic marriage, she HAS achieved that. in fact I would argue that the last episode effectively completed that arc by making her realize that she’s fully let go of all her feelings for rupert, good or bad. now she can go to a business meeting with him and even share a laugh with him like she would do with any other acquaintance because she no longer cares about him, about what he thinks or feels. she’s over her obsession with him, she’s over her hurt and desire for vengeance. she’s healed. and that is already the completion of her arc. if she also finds love in the last two episodes (with ted or whoever), that’s a bonus! not the fulfillment of her development, that has already happened and no matter what, it wouldn’t be overshadowed by whatever happens next.

also in general. why is it always female characters who ‘need to work on themselves’ before getting into relationships, but never male characters? I don’t see people say ted, who’s still depressed and not fully over his divorce, should be focusing on himself instead of getting into a new relationship, nearly as much. why do people assume that if a woman with emotional baggage (and who doesn’t have that anyway) gets into a romantic relationship, that will automatically take away from her self-actualization, but if a man in similar circumstances does it, it won’t affect his personal development? there’s nothing #feminist about insisting that female characters who crave love and connection should actually be alone as if it’s impossible for them to be fully self-actualized fulfilled human beings while also being in a romantic relationship

[femmeharringrove]

see, it's not like steve's ever been good at coping.

it's bad after starcourt, but instead of dealing with it then steve just puts everything into healing others. he comforts eleven, stays on the phone all night with lucas or dustin, helps will learn not to fear the cold, gives billy a shoulder to cry on and a place to live.

and so billy gets a front-row seat to steve's self-destruction.

he doesn't think it's his place to speak, initially, but he does worry when steve leaves early in the afternoon and comes back wasted, bruises on his throat and traces of powder on his clothes. some weekends he doesn't come home, he goes to indianapolis and shows up late sunday evening with a massive hangover and billy just gets him to eat and drink a little before getting him in bed. steve's not eating enough, he's losing weight and billy worries because this is his best friend, not even heather matches their level. and steve's done so much good for him but he doesn't know how to return the favor - not until steve barrels out of the bathroom one night shaking like a leaf, tears streaming down his face. billy takes one look inside, catches sight of two life-changing sticks, and rushes out after him.

and it's then, when he finds steve out by the quarry in a panic, that he knows how to help.

"i didn't mean to get pregnant," steve sniffles, and the moment billy crouches next to him the brunette is shuffling closer, scared and in need of comfort. and billy's still working on the physical thing, learning it's okay to be affectionate, but he doesn't hesitate to hold steve as close as he can.

"i know," he murmurs. "it's okay. we'll figure it out. you aren't doing this alone, you hear me?" and initially billy thinks he's fucked up because steve starts crying again, but when this round of sobs passes the other boy gives him a shaky smile.

"you promise?"

"cross my heart and all that shit." and that's just it. whatever steve needs, billy's got him.

steve initially doesn't want to go through with it, but decides ultimately it could be a good thing. he's thought about parenthood before, always wondered if he could be a better father than his own. this is a chance to prove it. and billy gives him all the support in the world. nobody messes with the only child of the harrington family, they can't afford the fallout, but he's always gotten dirty looks after coming out and they get worse now that he's pregnant. but billy follows him everywhere now amd anyone who gives him a look has to face the blonde's anger. and sure, he's not where he once was. he's still putting on muscle and learning to use his hands again, but half of what makes billy hargrove scary is the way he presents himself, the glare that suggests he knows people won't mess with him. and they don't, amd they don't mess with steve either for the same reason.

and when billy isn't around to do the protecting, steve's got others. joyce has kicked people out of melvad's before, for harassing a fifteen year-old steve. and five years later she still does it, voice calm and eyes steely. claudia is at every appointment he has, making sure the other nurses and doctors call him by the right name and pronouns. she's there when steve sees the baby's hand for the first time and has a breakdown because he's growing a whole person and doesn't know if he'll really be able to take care of them.

and claudia, she remembers being confused and a little judgemental when steve came out as steve, but that was before she caught him shuffling down the aisles of the library one day, small and clearly anxious about everyone he came across. thirteen year-old steve had lacked the easy confidence he sported now, and it was when she saw him that it sort of clicked. she didn't understand how someone could be a gender other than the one they were born as, but she made a point to greet him as steve any time she saw him and made an effort to accept him. now he's like the older son she never had, dustin's big brother, and when he weeps frantically over the daunting trial of parenthood she takes him by the shoulders and gives him the most serious look she can muster.

"nobody is ever ready for parenthood," she tells him, and one hand comes to wipe his tears away. "but you have exactly the heart for this job. you're going to be the best father in this whole town."

which steve doesn't agree with. the best dad in town is hopper.

hopper, who's been harassing people for harassing steve for years, but is more aggressive about it now because steve really means something to him now. sometimes, eleven calls him her brother, and hop figures, yeah, the kid could use a dad. so he makes a habit of checking up on him, and it gets more frequent now because he's also checking on billy, and with a baby on the way hopper's protectiveness is at an all-time high. nobody wants to fuck with the chief, so no one fucks with steve.

when the harringtons find out, steve's dad is livid, but it's steve's mother who keeps him from lashing out. the couple can't stand the blow to their social life and so it's off to lansing for them, a fresh start or whatever. the house stays under their name, though, and steve and billy make it theirs. the cosy master bedroom becomes steve's, billy finally decorates the guest room downstairs as his own. his mother calls sort of regularly, she's not thrilled about the situation but she's eager for a grandbaby to spoil, and steve counts that as a blessing.

of course, the party freaks out when steve announces his pregnancy. it's not like they didn't know steve could get pregnant, but they've never considered the idea that he would. eleven, max, and will are immediately thrilled, discussing baby names and wanting to pat his belly - especially el, who's never really experienced a pregnancy. mike and lucas are a little weirded out, but mike brings steve a bunch of baby books left over from holly and lucas donates his own old toys, declaring that baby harrington was going to be the coolest baby ever if he got to help look out for the little one. dustin doesn't know how to feel initially, which stresses steve out, but when someone throws a slur at steve three weeks after that dustin flips out, yells himself hoarse at the fucker, and declares himself steve and the baby's most ardent protector. the whole group has already discussed babysitting schedules and, yeah, maybe steve did cry about it, but he's pregnant and it was probably the hormones and not anything else, thank you.

robin gently berates him about sleeping with strangers out of town when she finds out, but after that she takes her position as aunt very seriously. within four weeks she buys three outfits, five stuffed animals, and a french record to help the baby learn the language.

"no such thing as too early," she says as she drops it on the dresser in steve's old room. the new nursery.

it's a labor of love, mostly by billy. woodworking is a big help with his hands so he was all too happy to make a crib himself. again, steve cried, but this time he feels it's justified. billy's put a rocking chair in too, and a record player too - "your taste in music is shit," he'd deadpanned as he brought the thing in. "someone's gotta culture the little snot." amd billy does that all the time, he's called the baby a snot, a turd, a little shit, all that jazz. but his face is softer than it's ever been and that makes steve smile every single time.

steve's labor of love starts five weeks early, much to his horror, and it hurts like a bitch. he gives birth early in the morning after a rainy night. she's a little replica of steve, down to the moles on her cheek, and he doesn't think he's ever known love until he looks at his daughter and feels the almost painful swell in his chest. he cries as he hugs her against his chest and swears on his life he'll do right by this wondrous little girl. her name is nikita - no, not after the elton john song, though later when she asks that's what he tells her, just so she can throw her head back and groan, "daaad!"

no, she's named after his grandmother. and she gets rosaline for a middle name after billy's mother. because, even if they didn't say it, it's clear billy intends to co-parent. he doesn't call it that, he just says he's helping a friend, but he's the one who changes her diaper at night and bounces her to sleep listening to metallica and teaches her to eat spaghetti.

and originally, he's the one she calls dad.

first it's baba, which steve thinks is in reference to the fact that billy bottlefeeds her, and billy thinks it's similar enough to "billy" to not be anything more than that. but she gets older and learns to say billy and steve, and still calls him baba. baba and papa. and to the outside world it makes sense, they're a little family, steve and billy ooze a chemistry anyone else can't deny. but it takes them three extra years to get with the program and become a couple.

to this day, niki claims there aren't more clueless people out than her dads when it comes to love.

[kaypeace21]

Byler hints in the background of s1-3

Honestly, this should just be called- ‘my autistic brain casually (and without even trying) notices shit in the background, but never mentioned it- because I thought it sounded too crazy to talk about’ XD. But the symbolism and Easter eggs give my byler-shipping heart so much life. So I thought, since you guys prob. didn’t notice it- I’ll mention it anyways.  So here goes.

Drawings/rainbows

There has been a theme in s3 about how Mike equates ‘falling for girls’ as a part of growing up, and his feelings for Will as something childish that he has to has to grow out of. 

- confessing to El : “A feeling … yeah, like, something… like OLD PEOPLE say it sometimes”.

- “And Will too. I was thinking we could all have new presents to play with and *scoffs* Sorry, that made me sound like a 7 year old... (apologizing to El)

- Mike getting in a fight with Will (after d&d), and saying they can’t be close anymore: 

Mike says, “It’s not my fault you don’t like girls!”, and then he tries to ½ apologize only to say, “I’m not trying to be a jerk. Ok? But We’re not kids anymore.” Explaining, this is just the way things are-boys fall in love with girls, get girlfriends, and this is just a part of growing up (heteronormativity).  He tells Will “I mean, what did you think, really? That we were never gonna get girlfriends? We were just gonna sit in my basement all day and play games for the rest of our lives?” And poor Will who is probably more aware of his feelings just responds. “Yeah, I guess I did. I really did.” And of course Mike immediately apologizes for being an “ asshole”, after this.

But here’s the thing! Mike actually does wish he didn’t have to grow up and that he could play games with Will (without girlfriends) for the rest of their lives. His room, in s3, SCREAMS that he’s trying to grow up/act straight... but he can’t let go of his feelings for Will. 

He literally takes down his old childhood poster from s1-2 for a more mature/adult poster. But on the same wall (where the old poster used to be) he hasn’t removed a single d&d drawing Will has given him. He’s pretending that he’s grown out of d&d when Lucas is around- because he’s emulating how (the straight) Lucas acted, all season. But Mike has it BAD (and is seriously pinning) for Will! Like, I love Will but his art at 11 years old isn’t so great to justify it still be on Mike’s wall at age 14.  He’s just that whipped (and literally can’t part with a single drawing Will has ever given him) XD

Like... it’s cannon that Mike caresses Will’s drawings 

He’s that ‘ dumbass blinded by love’ who thinks anything Will’s draws is a perfect- masterpiece. Mike could literally see Will draw scribbles and think it’s amazing! Like in s2 he just guides his hands through the scribbles he drew on the wall- no joke! XD

However, what’s interesting though is the one other things he took down from his wall. In S1 Mike (before he even met El)  has a heart sign, with a red heart being propelled by a rainbow. Yet in s3 , the season where he’s ‘obsessing’ about El- it mysteriously disappears. However, in the first ep of s3 when Mike is making-out with El we see a emergence of the heart being propelled by a rainbow (in El’s room) as a drawing. Probably signifying Mike participating in compulsory-heterosexuality and that no matter how hard he tries- he’s not straight!

So given the fact he can’t part with any of the pictures on the wall...you better believe Mike still has that giant binder filled with every drawing Will has given him . And he’s probably hidden it away , with the rainbow heart sign (because he knows it would look suspicious to have laying around). 

-Also, Mike literally has more rainbow symbolism than Will (and has had it through every season) XD

-the s2 ref being the most on the nose) Forbidden fruit + rainbow = queer forbidden romance. And during the 80s, that rainbow-apple poster in the AV Club was suspected to be in reference to Alan Turning (the gay ‘father of computers’).

Animal easter eggs that relate to byler and the upside down/supernatural-plot .

tigers- Mike keeps a tiger poster (which was right next to that rainbow-heart sign) in his basement through s1-3. In s1 we see Will also has a tiger drawing, which is later put on the wall (like a poster) in s2.  Sara Hopper (like Will ) had her death faked by the government (and had a tiger plushie in s1)- and Kali probably had something to do with it since in the prequel novel ‘suspicious minds’ had Kali talk non stop about her fav animal , tigers.  Theory  here. But again, Jancy is also connected to tigers as a romantic symbol (just like byler).

sharks- The Duffer brothers themselves said they based the s1 demorgorgan off of sharks, which Nancy even references in s1. Mike and Will have shark iconography in their room/basement. Will has a jaws poster shown in s1-2, and Mike has shark toys visible in s2. The shark (and bear) symbolism hint at the fact that Will created the upside down/demorgorgans/mind-flayer using his powers- theory here.

bears- Will since s1 has had bear symbolism around him. Bears symbolically represent  “wisdom” like ‘Will the wise’ and were associated with the demorgorgan/upside down in s1 and 2 as well . Max and Nancy compared demogorgans to bears- and Nancy and Jonathan used a bear-trap to capture a demorgorgan in s1 . 

But s3 made bears a romantic symbol- Mike was going to buy a golden teddy bear for El as a romantic gesture. The golden bear had a bowtie (it’s male). And the gray bear that Mike gives to her, was originally Will’s (as shown in s1 &2). This gray bear is coming right in between Mike and El (at the end of s3). They even kiss , while El presses the bear right in between them.  In conclusion these romantic bears represent Will. * I mean that whole awkward kiss (where Mike’s eyes are open and he doesn’t kiss back- happens in Will’s room, in front of Will’s open closet,  with Will’s bear smushed between them (pretty blatant foreshadowing).

dinosaurs- This one is probably a stretch but we see this boy has tons of dinosaurs (at least 6). He starts to info-dump on El about how much he loves them. But, she has no interest. And if the wtf look didn’t make this obvious.

She even gets up and walks away, ignoring his tangent about dinosaurs. 

She literally couldn’t care less about his interest in them. 

But in spite of this, we see Mike gave her Rory in s3 (since it’s in her bedroom). And in s2 we see him sadly look at Rory, with 2 other dinosaurs in frame. This, along with s1 implies he has a huge collection of various dinosaurs .But his collection is missing one of the most popular dinosaur species... the brachiosaurus (the long necked dinosaur).

And right after this scene in s2 scene, we go to Will’s room. And he has a huge brachiosaurus! This boy couldn’t even afford a halloween costume and had to have his hand-made by his mom... but he could afford this huge -fancy dinosaur replica? I bet Mike bragged about his dinosaur collection to Will (like he did with El). But Will being a nerd, was actually impressed. So Mike actually gave him his best/fav toy in his collection- kind of like what he did with Rory.

frogs- This is the most hilarious thing to me. I laughed for like 20 minutes on my rewatch. In s1 Will has a GIANT stuffed plushie of a frog next to his jaws poster and teddy bear. I’m dead! Will doesn’t even disagree with the “frog face“ insult. 

He’s just like ‘well, he’s my frog face’ . Time to snuggle with this frog that looks just like Mike . Will is so in love but also low key savage dragging Mike like that. I can only imagine Dustin and Lucas saying “nah, you don’t look like a frog”. And poor baby-Mike asking Will what he thinks, and Will not being able to lie, just saying “ Well... some people like frogs.”  XD

We also see that in s2 the frog is missing but the Jaws-poster, coin jar, and the bear (we later see El holding in s3) remain .Probably to indicate this is when Will started to subconsciously suppress his feelings for Mike. Although @theclericwill pointed out -that , instead, Mike may have used the frog-plushie as a pillow... for his frog-face XD

Throwing shade at Mileven/mileven shippers in s2 

In the Montauk pitch (later named Stranger things) they describe the Mike and El dynamic by saying “ If Mike is the Eliot of our show,Eleven is our Et.” (AKA they’re from different planets)

-In s2 , Erica  is forcing He-man and barbie to make out. Lucas angrily separates the two. And then this discussion happens.

Erica: “Hey , They’re in love!”

Lucas (livid- and standing right next to a rainbow): “No, actually,  they’re not. They don’t even exist on the same planet.”

Not to mention I doubt it was a coincident they had a (bratty) pre-pubescent girl be the proxy for most mileven shippers.Like not all mileven shippers are bad, but almost all the toxic ones (that the Duffers have to deal with) are tween girls. And to the Duffers, only a child could think 2 people are ‘in love’ after a week of knowing each other. Or that El could understand such things like romance- given the fact that her and Mike are from different planets (given how El has no experience with the outside world).Mike even says in s2,  he can’t hate Max because he ‘doesn’t know’ her (despite knowing her as long as he knew El). Meaning he doesn’t love El since he doesn’t know her. 

Plus, El told Mike, he treats her like ‘garbage’ and ‘a pet’ . And Finn after s1, said that the Duffers told him Mike thought of El as a puppy, and she is even compared to Dart (a demo-dog in s2). Mike asking Dustin, angrily “What, You have a bond? Just cause he likes nougat (eggos)?” Being a  blatant dig at people obsessing over this shallow aspect of their relationship.

Mileven was also compared to that  of family members. In s1, right before they kissed, she asks “will you be like my brother?” (while wearing Nancy’s dress). And Mike also referred to her as his ‘cousin’ . Not to mention, El loved ted’s laz-eboy chair (and Nancy said Karen and Ted “never loved each other” ). And right before Karen is about to cheat on Ted - she looks at him sleeping in the chair (and the lyrics are ‘I should have walked away’). 

It’s pretty hilarious, since so many people try to ‘no-homo’ byler by saying Mike thinks of Will as a brother/or family- yet, their relationship has never been directly compared to a sibling (unlike mileven).

People also seem to not realize Mike lied in s2 (just like he did in s3). He thought El was dead in s2. He told Max it “got her like it did bob” and then he made a spectacle in front of everyone saying “I never gave up on you”. Which was a blatant lie (since he just told Max a few minutes earlier, she was dead -_-). Mike simply blamed himself for her death (he said they needed her to save Will and even referred to her as a “weapon”). So when she died he felt the most responsible- and was hoping she was alive (and would answer his call) to alleviate his own guilt. Not because he loved her (that was an act). When he saw Will’s dead body, but heard his voice, he went on a rescue mission to save Will (from another dimension). But, Mike didn’t even bother going into the woods after seeing El outside his window (something he did for Will in ep 1, during a storm). And then in s3 Mike couldn’t even bother to call El and apologize- but ran to apologize to Will in the woods during a storm (bringing that whole parallel -full circle).

Plus, El told Mike, he treats her like ‘garbage’ and ‘a pet’ . And Finn after s1, said that the Duffers told him Mike thought of El as a puppy, and she is even compared to Dart (a demo-dog in s2). Mike asking Dustin, angrily “What, You have a bond? Just cause he likes nougat (eggos)?” A blatant dig at people obsessing over this shallow aspect of their relationship.

Bob and Mike parallels- the Rubik cube

Both are unathletic, smart, love comics, the only 2 to not treat Will ‘different’- and would do anything to protect their loved ones. And they also had crushes on Byers in childhood, and tried to give their Byers normalcy (despite them not being a ‘normal family’). They purposely display, and have Will -mirror Joyce- and Mike -mirror Bob- in multiple shots, throughout s2.

And both Mike and Bob are AV club leaders. Bob mentioned in one of the  earlier episodes  that he founded the Hawkins Middle AV club . And Mike later grabs Bob’s Rubik cube, and mentions this after his death (to solidify the connection- even if subconscious in our minds. He even proclaims after this “we can’t let him die in vain” . And this is when Mike makes the plan to help Will (before El shows up). 

gif credit: cath-avery, dailystrangerthings

[coralsheart]

cigarette smoke and the smell of weed

reading books by philosophers and pretending i know what they mean

fake it til you make it:

i am good, i am great, i am coping;

i love myself, i am hot shit,

i

am doing better.

staring daggers down at my body too much for that to be true

as if there is something of value to be found there

if they are sharp enough and my hate is vicious enough

i can mold myself into something better

going over all the places i have been

trying to justify

how i can get drunk and be loud and kiss people i shouldn’t

i am never, ever loud

it’s the same every time, really:

poorly stuffed couch i never know quite how to sit in

tissue box i’ll never dare use, motel art i’ve memorized instead of looking her in the eye.

the first time i saw a therapist i was eleven years old

after my father had thrown a plate across the room and smashed a mirror to pieces

i forgot about this the moment i left the building and remembered it today

my mother never left, not once

when i am twelve my therapist tells me that girls in abusive homes go on to mirror their mothers’ choices in partners

so i wonder what kind of legacy i am carrying

already i am starving myself just like momma

i wonder what else becomes of a little girl from a broken home

there are certain things that haunt me

“sickest of the sick” is who gets help

i don’t want recovery and i don’t want my eating disorder

to stay stagnant is to say fuck all possibility , fuck all hope

i try to understand that the universe depends on my existence

try to make that okay

to stay, anyway.

looking so hard for a moment of peace

trying to justify

that moment of peace

UNABLE TO JUSTIFY

that nothing i can ever say will be perfect

diagnostic manuals and notches on tape measures pulling me in with magnetic force,

the sun i have revolved around for too long.

i am sitting under the sun and i am not warm. i need to find something new to worship.

it has been the search for something greater to lean on

that has made me a stranger

to myself

i search endlessly for something to take

or take away

to make it all feel okay

i have longed for somebody to hug me

be a home to me

i never thought to lean on myself

wrap my hands around myself

make a home for myself and come back to it everyday

to find god not in the bottom of a beer bottle or empty stomach or proclamations of sickness,

no trophies reside at rock bottom;

to say,

this is not the hill upon which i will let myself die,

i don’t know where to find it next, something better, but to say,

i will keep searching.

as a child i looked out at the world insatiable and now everything is collapsing inwards,

a masochistic slippery slope that spirals,

smaller smaller small alone in the eye of the needle

i watch my body shrink and grow

i am acutely aware of the workings of my physical being

i forget what has happened to me

nothing outside me is real

i am in the eye of the hurricane and i do not even notice all that i have ever loved flying over my head, expanding, ever outward as i shrink farther and lose them all.

to say I AM GLAD TO BE ALIVE

or, I DON’T WANT TO DIE, NOT NOW, at least,

is to bring your gaze back out,

is to hell with all the times i sat on the bathroom floor and accepted this is the end.

is to flush all your razor blades down the toilet and all the promises they gave.

to justify

all that has happened to you as what has brought you here

to make peace with what is so terrifying:

that you are here

that you are not toilet bowls and bathroom scales

that the sun is hitting my own face and i am allowed to thaw and be warm

to accept the embrace instead of curling away, retreating from all that is good

to hold onto myself,

tight.

[cllynchauthor]

That post you made was a mess, just fyi. 1) I went through the thread you linked, and I found the authors reasonable and respectable. The playwriter's worked with people with disabilities for 10 years, and it's clear he cares about the issue. 2) The fact Lawrence is a puppy isn't automatically pejorative. That's how art works. I haven't seen the play, but it's probably a metaphor for the teen's lack of agency or something like that. Also writing something a certain way doesn't mean you -

“- approve of it. Have you even seen the play? 3) Please stop pretending anyone represents the autistic community and that you guys speak with one voice. It’s seriously dehumanizing to think a large and diverse group of people shares the same views. In that view there is an autistic man who loved the play - I guess his voice doesn’t count because he disagrees with you?”

--

I love this anon message because it contains pretty much every argument that people are using against the autistic folk protesting this play. 

Like, I’ve been watching #puppetgate unfold since day one, read the reviews, read the responses from @allinarowplay. You think I haven’t heard these points before?

I’ve read them so many times now in tweets and reviews that your message just looks like one of those ransom notes that are made from cut and pasted words out of the newspaper.

But since Tumblr is new to #puppetgate, SURE, let’s address them! 

First of all, my #puppetgate summary was a truthful, if flippant, tl;dr of the past two weeks’ worth of Twitter drama. 

I apologize if my brief humorous take on a complex and nuanced debate didn’t meet the standards of a random stranger on the internet. 

Let’s discuss it in more serious detail.

1) You can care about an issue and still handle it really poorly. No one doubts this playwright’s intentions. But, as you say, he was a CARER for 10 years. That doesn’t mean he understands how it feels to be autistic and in fact, ableism is built right into ABA and other therapies used by carers. 

So yeah, he cares. And he still made an ableist play.

Also, the thread you mention was BELOW the video I linked to wherein the puppet designer says, and I quote:

“Laurence is non-verbal, and the power that puppets have is that they explore movement and with a turn of their head or a small movement they give life and character that you wouldn’t achieve with a human actor.”

Which is why I snidely summarized their position as 

“ This puppet is going to be SO MUCH more like an autistic child than a human could ever be!”

https://twitter.com/allinarowplay/status/1092410318960148481

Also, there is a brief shot of their script in that video at 2:19 and if you pause it and look at it you can see that the parents are joking about how their kid is like a puppy.

“Shits wherever he wants” is clearly visible.

This is the stuff the positive reviews consider funny, honest, and brave.

According to reviews, the child is present in the background throughout most of the play. Which means they talk like this IN FRONT OF HIM and this is never brought up as an issue/problem. 

In fact, non-autistic reviewers don’t even seem bothered by it, probably because they share the common misperception that non-verbal high needs autistic people don’t understand what is going on around them. So…. yeah. I don’t care how well meaning the playwright was. 

The playwright consulted the National Autistic Society and they told him they couldn’t support the play “due to its portrayal of autism, particularly the use of a puppet to depict the autistic character alone.”

But he didn’t change his mind about the puppet.

https://www.msn.com/en-gb/news/uknews/critics-say-new-play-that-uses-a-puppet-to-portray-an-autistic-boy-dehumanises-those-with-the-condition/ar-BBTk5kC

So again - sure, maybe he cares. But he also wasn’t willing to change his vision despite the warnings of the Autism organization that he was hoping would endorse his play. 

2) Of course a puppet isn’t inherently pejorative. For one thing, the autistic community is very positive about Julia, the autistic muppet on Sesame Street.

The outrage involves a lot more nuance than that. First of all, it’s the choice to make the puppet grey and ugly. This was obviously an artistic decision. The first version of the puppet has black hair too and no eyes, just dark sockets like a skull. 

Not exactly Julia.  

And even with that, I was on the fence and willing to wait for the reviews to come out before I made a judgement. 

Like you, I thought perhaps it would be made clear in the play that his puppet-ness and greyness represented lack of agency. And maybe the designer was thinking that way. 

But if that is the case, it does not come across. 

In fact, the reviewers who enjoyed the play repeatedly dismiss the controversy by saying that the play “isn’t really about Laurence.” 

https://www.timeout.com/london/theatre/all-in-a-row-review

“The production is also about the situation, rather than about Laurence himself.“

https://www.thereviewshub.com/all-in-a-row-southwark-playhouse-london/

“sadly the grey-faced puppet adds nothing to the production that a living actor – adult or child – could not have provided.”

I’ve read a LOT of reviews of this play by now. 

Reviews from mothers of autistic children who feel a kinship with the stressed, unhappy, dysfunctional parents. 

Reviews from people without a connection to autism who feel like they learned something. 

Reviews from autistic people and disabled allies who cringe at the ableism. 

None of them - NONE of them - allude to any kind of symbolism or thematic point running through the play which justifies or explains the puppet or its weird appearance.

And the reasons for the puppet given by the playwright, director, and playhouse make very little sense. 

In that promotional video I linked to they say that the puppet can communicate better than an actor could. I disagree. So does a non-verbal autistic mime who commented in the thread below. 

They also say that it allows them to avoid being offensive or stereotypical, which makes little sense because they still had a grown man grunting and flapping on stage, just with a puppet sprouting from his waist. 

They repeatedly argued that they couldn’t use an autistic child, as if acting wasn’t even a thing. They repeatedly argued that a human actor couldn’t do the sounds and movements, even though a human puppeteer was doing just that.

My favourite one was the review (linked above) that argued that “Laurence isn’t a character a person could play (neurotypical or not) as his autism is so particular and at times violent.”

...Has this guy never seen Titus Andronicus? 

A person can play ANYTHING.

On Broadway I have seen human actors play cats, lions, baboons, and witches. 

On multiple occasions a fine-boned actress has been used to play Peter Pan. I’m pretty sure you could cast a small actor to play a pre-teen boy. Then the play wouldn’t have attracted so much negative attention.

As for “writing something a certain way doesn’t mean you approve of it.”

True. 

My fans can tell you that my main character spouts a fair amount of ableism. They’ll also tell you that this flaw is addressed openly and resolved as part of her character arc. 

They’ll ALSO also tell you that the “villains” of my story embrace ableist ideals. So yes, I wrote ableist stuff. But you can tell by the waythese things are framed how the writer wants you to feel about them.

No, I haven’t seen the play because I don’t live in the same country as it and it would take 12 hours to fly there. But I read what people write about it and I draw my own conclusions.

And the fact that ableist jokes are punchlines does not endear me to the playwright or the puppet. 

You say you haven’t read the play, and from the sounds of it you haven’t read many reviews either. 

If you think it’s wrong for me to criticize it after watching all of this unfold over days and days, and reading a dozen reviews by people who loved it and people who hated it, then how is it right for you to defend it?

3) Aw, look at that straw man lying on its side! You did a good job there.

Nowhere in my puppetgate summary do I claim that 100% of autistic people feel the same way.

I was summarizing what has been going down on Twitter over the past two weeks. I know because I was there. Don’t believe me? Actually spendsome time on the puppetgate hashtag and the actuallyautistic hashtag and see what people are saying.

And of course less than 100% of #actuallyautistic people feel the same, but I want to point out that at the time of this writing, my #puppetgate summary post has nearly 11K notes, all of them expressing disgust at the idea of this play.

Autistic people are disgusted. Autism allies are disgusted. Even people with no connection to autism can often see why this is effed up.

Yours was the only message I have received trying to defend the idea of a play featuring a messed up family arguing, discussing bukkake, calling their child a “puppy” using language which results in the play being rated as 16 plus... all in front of their eleven year old…

But what really bothers me is that somehow people come out of there identifying with the parents and thinking that it is “brave” and “honest.” 

They blame autism for what it has done to this family.

THE DAD SHAT ON HIS WIFE’S PILLOW AND BLAMED IT ON HIS OWN SON.

And the really sad thing is that your lonely messages in my inbox didn’t contain a single unique thought. I’ve been seeing those tired excuses and straw man arguments all over twitter for weeks.

They don’t stand up.

I’ve performed in theatre. I was willing to withhold judgement until more details about the play emerged. 

I was hoping they would say something brilliant and profound about what life is like for an eleven year old child with autism who is being sent away because his messed up family can’t stand it any more.

But facts are facts… they didn’t.

All they are doing is telling audience after audience that it is funny to insult your autistic child in his very presence and that autism wrecks marriages.

You can understand why a LOT of autistic people would be a bit sensitive about that kind of message.

It doesn’t have to be everyone. 

[cruddyborderlandstheories]

Fanon characterization of the Calypso twins between me and The Wild West Pyro: 

We both have the strong sinking feeling that the twins are slowly going to lose it as the game goes on, so here’s our collaborated analysis of the two:

I’ll be in non-cool text, while The Wild West Pyro will be in italics, for easier distinction between us. [There will be slight edits and changes for cohesion]

“It would be pretty interesting if we found out the Calypsos/the cult started out with 'good intentions'.”

“Hell, you can see the populism kicking in there.What did the writers say? Ah. "Your poor bandits! You're kicked around and nobody likes you, but we can give you a purpose in life! We can make you feel appreciated and loved!" [This is a reference to the Danny Homan interview] Something of that line.”

“oh yeah! the twins are also providing them with food and weaponry. i mean i can see why a bandit desperate for something better would follow them.”

“I'm guessing how this goes: The Twins start off by winning people over by talking about how they want Pandora to be finally at peace after endless war and giving the bandits a new life where they're treated like actual people. Then once they've got enough people, they say that the Raiders have to go, the corporations have to go, with the Vaults seized the universe will see no more war. Actually, I'm predicting rn that they have a very, very cult-like end goal in terms of IRL parallels.What if they choose to "cleanse" the universe with whatever power Tyreen possesses? And once everything standing in their way is gone, they can create this ideal utopian peaceful universe where there's no corporations and no more fighting. Meanwhile the Eridians are panicking because they know it's a doomed plan and the Vaults do not work like that.”

“[this is very much a] large scale Opportunity situation. literally reverse uno card as to what jack was attempting”

“Yep. Paradise for the common man bandit. OTL parallels to what usually sparks communist revolutions or popular revolutions in general. So yeah, Tyreen could very easily justify herself in that she genuinely wants to bring peace to the universe, with all means necessary. Of course, internally, the Twins just want to be gods and play at being them and hold onto their power as absolute rulers presiding over an eternally-grateful populace.”

“definitely sounds like two teenage cult leaders to me ngl. i could see them not being too secure in themselves (behind the vvv confident personas they put on) and constantly second guessing themselves and reassuring that they're doing this for everyone's own good even as things just keep getting worse and worse. could [have] a tie-in to whatever tragic backstory they might have”

“Yep and yep. And there's this internal fear that they don't know what being a god entails, if they'll lose sense of who they are or not... but put that aside. All for the greater good! I'm actually thinking about this. People note that the Twins are basically streamer critiques, which is a yes. But if you want to take them to serious universe-spanning villain territory, I think that they'll absorb the knowledge from Elpis at one point. And they start to become more detached and more frightening, and a lot more eloquent as they really start becoming gods in the BL sense. While still being narcissistic attention whores who actually like killing people off with their powers but pretend to act benevolent. Essentially, you have the Greek Gods except there's two Zeuses, one is a girl and they've both got all of Zeus's worst traits cranked up to eleven.”

“oh god are they gonna dick everything that moves? oh no... cover ava's eyes! joking aside, that sounds accurate. especially given the borderlands universe loves to tie in its greek mythology. also also i am glad someone else agrees the twins are going to elpis. i refuse to believe they'd destroy it/blow it up before going there for the info. that shit is valuable! especially if you want to convince people you're gods?? accurately predicting the future is insanely good for doing that! plus all the other cool shit you can do by knowing exactly what's going to happen.”

“It also makes the Twins much more dangerous if they can see every outcome...unfortunately, Lilith is very good at playing 4D Chess by now.”

“lilith, putting on her sunglasses and cracking her knuckles: it's time to show them what a real military organization can do. ellie is her hype woman with the drink and a towel. also also lilith is probably kicking herself for not being fast enough this time to punch the vault symbol into tyreen's face.”

“Honestly, I'd love Lilith to turn out to be this really crafty, really charismatic guerrilla warfare commander. Like an Innie leader but they're hypercompetent, not a terrorist and also have Keyes's sheer talent for analyzing battles and tactics and adapting accordingly. Lilith sitting up in Sanc-III being BL!Keyes except a lady and specializing in ground warfare would be sick.”

“yes. fucking. please. gearbox please give lily all the character development, your girl deserves it. im glad because it does seem like she's getting there when you crash land on Promethea. and even the way she handles herself on the bridge is very smooth and confident.”

“tfw you can see the future and, yet, the lady you robbed of her siren powers is outsmarting you 24/7, 365 days a year despite you being able to see the future. also you're trying to fight fate and desperate to change reality so that you can't lose like the future said you would. joke's on you, you cannot fight it.”

“There is no changing it. bonus points if ty only saw the very end, so she is utterly clueless on how the middle bits play out. so lilith is kicking her ass across elpis and she's like ‘this is NOT how i saw this going’.”

“I'd seriously imagine that life in BL corporate society really is like life in Rapture or Columbia. The upper class profits immensely and reaps all the best goods, but they refuse to do the dirty work themselves so they rely on this huge workforce who they constantly cheat, lie and exploit. The few achieve huge power and stuff at the expense of the many. Looking at the Twins in the parallels of how revolutions go, they'll basically go from recruiting the bandits to recruiting the huge lower class of every planet.  Looking at records from all the planets, we've got people being screwed over again and again, corruption and other nasties. The Twins claim that they want all corporations to go, to bring some form of unified government back to the galaxy. And it works- their army size quadruples overnight and goes from there. By the time we get to Promethea, the COV are already recruiting everyone dissatisfied with corporate life. If they successfully seize control of Maliwan like I predict, they'll be a force to be reckoned with. The Twins will use the masses to achieve some sort of theocratic revolution, [they] claim that it's all for everyone's good. But in reality, they want to be absolute rulers of the universe, gods worshipped and feared by all.”

“Oh yeah, the twins are definitely feeding (maybe literally) off the huge numbers of dissatisfied people across the universe- the mega corporations are evil, no doubt there are millions of people waiting for something better. tbh, if gaige wasn't booted from the main game, I could see a whole side story of her having started a revolution somewhere, and then joining up with the Crimson Raiders once her entire party just up and joined the CoV. And [I would] 100% bet the twins started a campaign against DAHL and Atlas and suddenly nearly every bandit on pandora joined up with them. (also Athena was sitting in a chair clutching at the armrests and janey was like "don't you fuckin dare, hon" and athena is like "but... Atlas...")”

[We talk more about Gaige’s anarchist revolution and trying to topple the mega corporations in a less cult-y fashion here]

“... Bonus points 2: The COV fire up the memories of Jack to rally everyone into opposing Hyperion and suddenly Athena is like "OK I'm not going, mobilize the army." And Janey is like ‘Here we go...’.”

[we joke around a little bit more about Athena and Janey here]

“I can imagine Rhys's internal conflict, knowing that he has to make the galaxy a better place but at the same time, maintain his corporate power and control because without it, he's doomed. Then again, Rhys is no stranger to doing shady stuff. I think a lot of the Twins's evil will be in how they treat their followers.There's all the smooth-talking and promises of the future. And then when you actually get there, you're brainwashed into being another unthinking, 100% loyal attack dog for them. And you follow everything they ask you to do for 100%, even if they use you for power experiments or cannon fodder. And the game will remind us that these people weren't all bandits - over the course of the story, the COV includes people like former corporate execs, entire families, people who were just trying to get by day to day. And now we as Vault Hunters have to kill all these ordinary people to save the universe. Tough choices, eh?“

“Oh geez, you know that's a really fair point. i know borderlands likes to push the 'morally gray' aspect of things, but holy shit that's dark. (not saying i don't love it though, i totally do lol) You’re probably 100% right that rhys is struggling internally. especially after being so closely tied up with hyperion and even fiona and sasha, seeing exactly what hyperion did to people not just on helios but the people trying to live their daily lives and survive on pandora. im sure he has a similar reasoning to himself as the twins: im doing this for the better of the people. i can help so many more people with this money and power. somewhat similar to handsome jack, but hopefully lorelei (if she's not evil) helps ground him and keep him from jumping into the middle-to-deep end.”

“I'm still betting that Rhys will remain on the good side, if a teensy bit unscrupulous. I mean, the whole thing about the Twins is that they're social commentary of livestreamers and influencers and the incredibly toxic influence they can have. There are countless aspects of that to explore. If streamers can mobilize their entire loyal fanbases to bully the crap outta some poor chump or buy things or let their fans believe that they know the streamer 100% as a person and not a persona, the Twins can convince people to go to war.”

“Oooh yeah, it's not hard to imagine they probably don't even need the brainwashing for a majority of their cult, just the select few who are either on the fence or against it, but are [still] 'available'. irl streamers can be seriously fuckin scary, man, im not surprised this is the route gearbox is going for. now, it would be severely fucked up if there was a scene where tyreen demands someone kill themselves on the spot and they do without hesitation. if you watch the moze gameplay there seems to be a hint of something like that going on over the radio/TVs, she mentions something about their sacrifice or something, then you hear a dude screaming/gurgling.”

“Everyone's thinking that Tyreen will be this laughable, entertaining villain. But I'm constantly seeing hints and estimating that she is going to be far, far more scarier than we give her credit for. For one, Jack was a presence largely relegated to audio. We only physically saw him in BL2 twice. The Twins run a cult, which itself is frightening already. And it looks like we'll be seeing them in person very often.”

“Oh yes, tyreen is fucking terrifying. i mean even that she can steal siren powers is already a huge "whoa what the fuck" in my book. that one line at the end of the HBC where she's like "you're my most loyal follower vault thief, you just don't know it yet"? fucking scary, how her voice drops and gets all serious for a split second and then the hologram just cuts out. i was like "wh- wait hang on-???" i definitely think she is putting up a persona and as the game goes on we're slowly going to watch her lose it. troy will probably grow a bit distant from her as well if he doesn't lose it, too. definitely think ty is going to try and kill him once he's of no use to her, because he's just been a pain in her side because she had to keep him alive as the brains of the operation. but once the operation is done... whoops. sorry pal. don't need you anymore. they're the main villains, i can't see her holding the bonds of family in high regard at all. she could totally write off his death as like ‘he sacrificed himself for the Great Vault, now we pray to him every day and sacrifice ourselves in his name’ or smth”

“She puts up this fun-loving persona as a streamer, but she then decides the Vault Hunters get to see her true self. It is not pretty. It makes Jack look like a kitten-cuddling fluffball, that's how bad the real Tyreen is. It makes Piston and Vasquez sound like friendly guys you'd take out for lunch after work. It makes Hector's goals look very reasonable and sane. Also, perhaps she kills him and we never see how she did it, which ups the scare factor. It's like Troy disappeared and we have no idea how she killed him and how long it took for him to die. We just find a lot of irreconcilable proof that Troy is dead now and we don't know how. That is the amount of horror I'm estimating.”

“Oh man I love this. That's so horrible (in a good way), I can 100% see it happening. Jack swore revenge for us killing the person he 'loved'. Tyreen herself kills the person she 'loved' and we start to realize holy shit this is the real deal. She can't even pretend to care like Jack pretended to care (he didn't actually care about Angel as a person, but he did say things to try and make Angel think he did, just putting that out there cuz I don't wanna sound like I support him lol). There's just a complete contrast between her and Jack during the final levels of the game. Jack stops joking around "you feel that, child killer?", he's dead serious and ready to kill vs Tyreen laughing or just being off the rails bubbly for her 'streamer persona' while looking utterly unhinged”

so yeah, the convo teetered off after this a bit, but the general gist is that Tyreen is going to go absolutely off-the-wall by the end of the main story. this is somewhat supported by the Danny Homan interview that states the twins are going to have their relationship warp and twist.Tyreen is going to start going crazy with all the powers she absorbs and realize once the plan is over she won’t need Troy’s expertise anymore, and Troy is going to get sick of being relegated to the side when he’s the one with the master plan. We both have the deep feelings the twins aren’t going to stay as charismatic as they are in the little bit of promo material we’ve gotten of them. which i get, because in a lot of the official trailers, Troy looks pissed. Tyreen is always super smug no matter what shot she’s in, but Troy... he looks very angry in some shots we get. even when Ty is holding his forearm in that one shot, he rips his arm out of her grip. For example: “How many IRL streamer "friends" get into ridiculous drama and feuds with each other? Answer: a lot. Could be mirroring that with the twins. A lot of people are saying that the new villains will never match up to Jack. This is our take, and we're proud of it, and very confident in Gearbox's new writing team. ”

EDIT: some edits made by The Wild West Pyro

[wardencommanderrodimiss]

Chapter 8: flashback!

[Seelie of Kurain Chapter Masterlist] [ao3]

[Witches Chapter Masterlist] [ao3]

----

“Wait, how did you even go to Europe on your, erm, ‘piano player’ salary?”

“Edgeworth needed help with cases from time to time - he worked out all the details. I might’ve been technically billed as an Interpol consultant? It drove his sister up the wall. Anyway, so that’s when I met Athena. Pretty simple.”

“It was like it was destiny! And it’s thanks to Mr Wright that I became a lawyer at all!”

“Give yourself plenty of credit. Defense attorney at age eighteen, honestly.”

-

Phoenix does not know jack or shit about the German language, which makes him more than useless (or is it “less than useless”, or do those two turns of phrase come out to mean the same thing like “flammable” or “inflammable”; Iris was the one whose major involved language, not him, and he’s not about to summon her for a grammar lesson) whenever Edgeworth is dealing with officers and witnesses. 

Admittedly, most of them probably have decent English, but they’re trying to maintain the fiction of Phoenix belonging here. (Edgeworth says he belongs here, but while Phoenix trusts Edgeworth more than anyone, he can’t on this matter.) And Phoenix doesn’t like having extra attention drawn to himself, not anymore, not even here across the ocean where only a few people know him from anyone else, and those few trust him that he didn’t present forged evidence. (Or they trust Edgeworth, who trusts him.)

So while Edgeworth is actually getting useful information about the case, Phoenix is left uselessly pacing over the crime scene, and it’s then that he notices, standing on the far side of the Polizei tape, the girl. She might be Trucy’s age, not much more, with red hair half falling out of a ponytail and a broad face with blue eyes that are transfixed, staring unblinking, at the drying blood spilling off of the sidewalk onto the road.

He imagines Trucy, at her age, wandering onto a crime scene and seeing real blood, and that he doesn’t like at all. (Wait until she’s older. Like, fourteen. That’s a good age for starting to investigate murders, right? It’s a year older than Franziska was, but being a better father than Manfred von Karma is a bar so low that it’s in hell, coincidentally with Manfred von Karma.)

“Uh, Guten tag,” he says, sure he’s fucked up that pronunciation as much as something so simple could possibly be mangled. And he doesn’t know why he even tries that much, because it means she responds in German, and he doesn’t know anything else.

Which he admits, but she brightens and says, in unaccented English, “That’s okay! I’m American, actually, but I’m living here now. I think it’s good to learn the language of wherever you are, but it’s harder for adults to learn new languages than kids – there’s a kind of cutoff point where your brain stops absorbing it so easily – so I can’t blame you, really.”

It takes several moments for his brain to even absorb that. Then, finally, faintly, he says, “You shouldn’t be here. It’s a crime scene, you know. Authorized personnel only.”

“And I’m on this side,” she says, indignantly pointing to her feet and then to the tape. Her eyes drift back down toward the blood. 

“Yeah,” he says, “but you’re a kid and really don’t need to be looking at this much blood.”

“I’m almost fourteen.” She raises her chin and stares at him like she knows that’s the arbitrary age he picked and is daring him even in his own head to recant on it, though “almost” isn’t actually fourteen. “And besides, I need to get tougher! Like how I’m running and going to the gym and spending time in crowds and talking to strangers.”

Phoenix frowns. She glares at him. “There’s nothing wrong with being squeamish,” Phoenix says. There isn’t a good way to position himself between the girl and the bloodstain but if he keeps talking maybe he’ll distract her. “And if you don’t like crowds and strangers and you’re out here in the city talking to me, maybe you’re already tough enough. You’re going to be running into those more than murder scenes, anyway.” 

“Oh,” she says. “I didn’t think that someone could lose that much blood and live. I guess they didn’t.” Her eyes start to drift away from Phoenix’s face but then she snaps them back, leveling a suspicious squint at him. “You meant that. About being tough. People say things like that but don’t always mean it, but I can hear you mean that. Even though you don’t know me.”

It isn’t a question, but Phoenix hears one anyway that he feels compelled to answer. “I have a daughter,” he says. “She’s eleven.” 

The red-haired girl nods, satisfied with that. For a moment, anyway. Then she’s back, looping around earlier in the conversation, like she knows how to hit Phoenix’s vulnerabilities after she confessed her own. “What are you doing there?” she asks. “You don’t look like authorized personnel either.”

And he’d even put on a tie and shaved today. Is it his hair? Is it too ridiculous for him to be believable as a professional? “I’m a lawyer,” he says, expecting the next question to be the why don’t you speak German?

She purses her lips and idly taps at the side of her necklace. It’s about the size of a golf ball, with a simple smiling face imposed on a glowing green. “Are you a prosecutor?” she asks. 

Blinking at her, he is too surprised to immediately answer. He wouldn’t have known the types of lawyer at her age if not for Edgeworth. Maybe she’s interested in a career in law, already, and that’s why she thinks she can’t be squeamish. “No,” he says. “I’m a defense attorney.”

Was. He was, past tense. He answers in the present like a reflex, because that’s how he can justify himself being here as a consultant, but he’s not been a defense attorney for almost as long as he was a defense attorney, now. He hung a corner of his identity on it, Phoenix Wright, attorney-at-law, and got hung out to dry. 

“Oh,” she says. “That explains it, why you sounded so sad when you said you’re a lawyer.”

Had he sounded sad? He didn’t think so. He’d answered without thinking, without time to get sad about the fact that he’s lying when he says “I am”. 

“Because it must be really sad to be a defense attorney,” she continues, probably taking his silence for confusion. “Some people think you’re evil and helping criminals, and then you don’t ever win even when the defendant is innocent, because the police trust the prosecutors more and want to get the cases wrapped up as quick as possible because that looks best, so a prosecutor has to be honest and especially honorable to make sure justice is properly served, but a lot of prosecutors are more concerned with win records than being honorable.”

She waits, expectantly, her hands on her hips, for him to say something. It takes much, much longer than it should. “Where did you hear all that?” he finally asks. Somehow, refuting her insistence that the defense always loses doesn’t seem to be the one most pressing matter.

The confidence written on her face and in her pose - not a happy confidence, because she doesn’t seem to like what she’s saying but believes it to be true anyway - vanishes. Her shoulders fall. “My mom’s student was a prosecutor,” she says. “We’d study together, even though it was different things, and he was a lot older than me, but even before he took the Bar he’d tell me all about the legal system - the one back home, back when I still lived in LA.”

“You’re from Los Angeles?” Phoenix asks abruptly. She nods. “I am, as well.”

“Nice!” She raises a hand for a high five and then without missing a beat continues, “He never talked down to me and even if the truth was really heavy he’d always answer any question I had honestly.” Her hand, falling back to her side, freezes in the air. Everything about her freezes for a second. “Almost any.”

If she’s from Los Angeles, with someone in the legal system there, then she might very well know the name Phoenix Wright, and how he was ruined. His stomach turns. He could easily name a few of his high-profile defendants - the ones who weren’t Matt Engarde - as proof that it’s possible to win a Not Guilty, for the price of drawing attention to himself. And he’s really only nitpicking - the concept that she’s saying, that their legal system is rotten to its core, is really true despite Phoenix’s victories. He’s only one man. He was only one. Now he’s nothing at all.

“Oh!” she says suddenly. “I didn’t give you my name! I’m Athena!”

He could’ve stood to introduce himself sooner, if he wasn’t afraid of her or anyone knowing the name Phoenix Wright, and if he hadn’t taken up the fae rule of never offering his name first, which he realized the other day when Edgeworth was introducing him to the rest of their team. Paranoia, always, toward everyone equally. “I’m Nick.” 

Athena raises an eyebrow. “Isn’t that super informal?” she asks. “It feels especially so I guess because I’ve been learning German and it’s all figuring out Sie and du and then you’re an American lawyer just like, yeah I’m Nick.”

“It could be ‘Mr Nick’ if you’re feeling formal,” Phoenix says. 

She laughs and stops, abruptly, tilting her head to the side. Then she takes a few steps forward until the police tape is being pulled forward with her, trying to lean in across the scene. When she ducks under it entirely, she watches where her feet go, at least but she’s still where she shouldn’t be, stretching forward like a cautious dog sniffing an unfamiliar object, turning her head side to side, positioning one ear and then the other toward where Edgeworth is talking to a witness. “Hey!” Phoenix says. “You’re supposed to be on that side--”

“Shh!” she hisses.

She doesn’t move any more, is just listening intently even though Phoenix can barely pick up Edgeworth’s voice, never mind the words themselves, over the other conversations and the background noise of Frankfurt at large. After another minute during which Phoenix braces himself to be yelled at for not removing this child from the crime scene, she straightens back up and turns, very seriously, to Phoenix. “Who’s that?” she asks. “The man talking to the man in the purple suit?”

Phoenix would be more inclined to describe Edgeworth as red, or maybe burgundy, but there’s no one else who could be even close to purple in the area. “He’s a witness,” Phoenix says. “And the prosecutor.”

She nods. “He looks like a prosecutor,” she says. “Fancy.” She shakes herself, like trying to focus herself again, and says, “The witness is hiding something.”

“What?” Phoenix asks.

“He’s hiding something,” she repeats. “He didn’t do it, but he’s glad it happened, and he’s starting to get a little worried about the prosecutor’s questioning.”

Phoenix can’t see “a little worried” in the man’s body language. Certainly there is nothing to suggest any of the rest? Glad? “Where are you getting that from?” Phoenix asks. “I can’t even hear what they’re saying.”

“I have really sensitive hearing,” she says. “Like my ears can pick up a lot of things. And sometimes people’s emotions come through in the subtlest tones of their voice.”

“Like when you said I was sad,” Phoenix says. She nods. “I’ll make sure we look into the witness’ and victim’s backgrounds to see if there’s any connecting threads.”

She blinks. “You - you will? You believe me?”

“Yeah,” Phoenix says. “I believe you.” He would know if she was lying. He would be able to see the locks. “I can’t take the chance of ignoring anything if it could help us get to the truth.” Even if anything is a tip from a strange girl from Los Angeles. (Strange girls from Los Angeles tend to be blessed or fae. Maya and Pearl who are fae. Ema whose sister knew Mia. Trucy whose grandfather was fae and left a blessing on her eyes. Athena who - what?)

“Oh,” she says. “You really do believe me. Even my aunts, sometimes, the ones I’m living with here, sometimes they don’t believe me totally, all the things I can hear, when I tell them. And I--” Abruptly she cuts herself off, scrambling back under the police tape but not fast enough for her to be out before Edgeworth is there, close enough that Phoenix can hear him now too.

“Why is there a child on the crime scene?” he asks.

“I was trying to get her out,” Phoenix says. 

“Unsuccessfully, I see.”

“But I was watching her the whole time and she didn’t touch anything.”

Edgeworth snorts. “Small miracles,” he says. “There was probably some other way for you to occupy yourself, usefully.”

“Hey,” Phoenix says. “I was waiting for you to finish talking and catch me up on what everyone else has to say. Besides, I think I’ve got plenty useful for you.” He turns back to Athena. “You should probably go home now. Stop skulking around at crime scenes and giving your name to strange lawyers you just met.” 

“Okay,” she says. “Is this going to trial tomorrow? Is it going to be at the courthouse just up a couple blocks, if I want to see? Since I wonder how actual court cases are different than the stuff I learned back when.”

“Yeah,” Phoenix says. “But, really. This is my fatherly advice to you.”

Edgeworth rolls his eyes. “Wright. I know you’re missing Trucy, but we do have to go, and you can’t just invite every child you run into along.”

“I was not,” Phoenix says. Though it’s true that he misses Trucy; she had wanted to come, very badly, but this is a trial balloon more than anything, a few days, see if they can get away with it. (Which sounds underhanded even though Edgeworth of course went through all of the proper channels to get Phoenix attached as an Interpol/prosecutorial consultant.) Next time, if there is a next time, which doubtlessly there will be considering the number of times Edgeworth has invited him and Trucy along since Phoenix lost his badge, continuing even through Phoenix’s refusals until the home situation was stable - next time, Trucy will get a European vacation.

(For now, she gets an LA vacation, because she’s staying with Larry and that is a situation far removed from any everyday life. Phoenix anticipates washing paint out of all her clothes for days. And he’s been worried, constantly, even though Larry almost has his shit together more than Phoenix does, and even though he’s assured that Larry’s attention is responsibility focused on his books and on Trucy because he swore off women after his crush on Iris and mostly seems to have stuck to that. Which Phoenix empathizes with innately, because Phoenix also swore off women after Iris and has entirely stuck to that.)

“I invited myself!” Athena says brightly. “It’s not his fault! But okay. No more crime scenes! Got it!” 

“See?” Phoenix asks Edgeworth. “I can be a good influence.”

He pairs the eye roll with a sigh this time. 

-

Phoenix makes it an hour into the trial, from the gallery, before the emotional tumult is too much, sets him fraying from the edges in and burning up from the inside out, and he sneaks out during the cross-examination of the first witness (not the witness Athena pointed out, the one he and Edgeworth had investigated further). He intends to go straight out into the city, where the air still won’t be cold or fresh enough to settle his stomach, but the front steps might be far enough from the courtroom to make his hands stop shaking.

He doesn’t get there, because on the wide stairwell down to the entrance lobby, he finds Athena sitting there, her hands pressed over her mouth, her eyes closed, and her shoulders heaving with long, deliberately steady breaths. Standing on the stairs above her, he sees and Sees a girl not much older than Trucy and with all her stubbornness, a girl who gave him and Edgeworth a very useful hint, a with her red hair matted to her neck by sweat, who looks halfway into an anxiety attack. Who looks the way Phoenix’s poker face won’t allow him to anymore, who has a heart on her sleeve instead of locked behind stone. Strange girls from Los Angeles, nothing - they’re an ocean away and she’s a damn kid and he’s paranoid and half heartless and doesn’t know how to change any of those things and get back his humanity because he doesn’t even know how to be kind to humans anymore either. “Hey,” he says quietly. “Athena?” 

She twists her head around sharply, frantically wiping tears out of her eyes. “Oh, hi, Mr Nick,” she says. She sniffs loudly but forces a bright grin onto her face. That reminds him of Trucy, too, the lie inherent in the expression.

“Do you mind if I sit down?” he asks. She shakes her head. He folds himself down onto the stairs next to her. “Yeah. Overwhelming in there, isn’t it?”

She nods. “It’s loud,” she says. “I wanted to watch everything but everyone in there is so loud with everything they’re feeling. And I’d been saying that I’d gotten better at shutting out hearing anything extra but what I wanted to but I guess I was wrong because now I’m…” She rests her chin on her arms. 

“Yeah, I told myself I’d be fine and I was lying to myself too,” Phoenix says. “I’m - I was a lawyer. I’m not anymore. I was careless - someone gave me some suspicious evidence and I just presented it without further investigation, and it was forged and the prosecutor knew in advance, and I got my badge taken.” She stares at him with wide blue eyes. “This is the first time I’ve been back in a courtroom since.”

“And that’s why you were sad,” she says. “When you said to me that you’re a lawyer.” She keeps staring at him, as though she might figure anything out from seeing and not hearing. “Did you ever actually win a case?” she asks.

“I did, actually,” he says. 

She sits back up straighter. “Really?” she asks. “Even with everyone against you, and - and even if you know that they didn’t do it what if no one listens to you? That you go up there and scream and no one listens?”

“You never really know if your client is guilty or not,” Phoenix says. “You just have to believe, and fight for the truth.” Those are Mia’s words, not his own; he has trouble believing, sometimes. He has trouble putting his heart into anything. “But the thing about being a defense attorney, with your badge” - he starts to point to his badge and stops, because it isn’t there anymore - “is that when you’re up at the bench, they have to listen to you. That’s your job and their job. So you get that badge and get back there and you just scream, as loud as you can, in your client’s defense.”

Athena has steely eyes when she’s focused and intent, staring at him like she can find the whole truth of the world and the profession in the words of a man who’s been disbarred almost as long as he ever had the authority of a badge. “I think I believe you,” she says. “You sound sincere. Like you believe you.”

Does he? He doesn’t know. But Larry wasn’t convicted of murder, and Edgeworth wasn’t. Von Karma tries to steamroll the judge and the entire court and still Phoenix, with Maya’s help, screamed louder. Is she right? Is he right?

“Let’s go back in,” she says, standing up and firmly planting her hands on her hips. “We can handle it this time.”

-

The verdict doesn’t come that day, but the witness Athena had earmarked admits, under pressure of being on the stand, to have been involved in the planning of the crime but refuses to say who he was planning with. Athena’s eyes are alight; she leans forward so far that Phoenix is afraid she’s going to tumble out of the gallery and talks his ear off on their way out, tagging along with him like a shadow. He doubts she’s really aware of where he’s going, just that she has things to say to him and wants to say them. If he’s lying, he’s only a little worried about her and this way that she’s just attached herself to a stranger. Does she do this often, or is it just him? He can be grateful that her ears might help her sus out whether someone has good intentions. 

But still, she’s not that much older than Trucy. (And Trucy attached herself to him in the same way. And Ema. Is there some part of a blessing that makes him a magnet for preteen girls? Or is it a very weird curse that no one’s informed him of?)

“And the prosecutor,” Athena adds, not taking in that they are approaching the prosecutor lobby, and that very soon she will be talking about said prosecutor not behind his back but to his face. “Prosecutor Edgeworth - is he the Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth, from Los Angeles?”

“Yes,” Phoenix says, cautiously, and Edgeworth, standing at one of the lobby benches putting the last of the papers into his briefcase, looks up in alarm. It would be nice if the only thing he had to be afraid of right now was Phoenix trying to adopt this child, too. “Why?”

“Because he’s famous!” Athena says, throwing her arms in the air. “He’s Miles Edgeworth! He’s one of the best prosecutors in the state and abroad! Even crazy international cases don’t scare him!” Phoenix has a memory of Ema gushing in a similar manner. “And he cares about the truth and is honorable and that’s tragically rare, but - ah.” Finally stepping out from behind Phoenix, she spots Edgeworth right there, and she shrinks down and retreats back into Phoenix’s shadow. “Oh. Hi.”

“Wright,” Edgeworth says, pressing a hand to his face, which Phoenix swears is turning a little pink. And it’s funnier the more Phoenix thinks about it, because Athena said what she knew of the legal system was what a family friend told her, and that means that Athena isn’t the only Edgeworth fan. The person who told her about him likely was, too. Phoenix needs to mention that to him later. “Wright, Wright, I leave you for two hours and again you find—”

“Wait!” Athena gasps. She springs back from Phoenix, blue eyes huge in her face, turning between him and Edgeworth so fast that she hits herself with her hair. “Wait, wait, Wright? You aren’t - he’s Edgeworth, so you, Mr Nick, you aren’t Phoenix Wright, are you?” She struggles for words, her palms drumming on the air as she searches for what she means to say. “The badge, what you said about your badge, losing it - you’re Phoenix Wright!” 

“Yes,” Phoenix says, and even Edgeworth can hear how pained he sounds on admitting it. (Names matter, in magic and in general, and Phoenix cannot, will not, give up on his own. But sometimes he’s tempted; sometimes he just wants to be Nick, or no one at all.)

Athena’s eager smile slides off her face. “Oh,” she says. “Oh. I’m sorry. It’s just - you’re a legend too!” Implying Edgeworth is, and yes, his face is rather pink, adorably flustered by that bout of compliments earlier. “Will Powers and Max Galactica and Mask DeMasque! And you won all those cases! You won, you actually won!” Her smile returns, infectious enough that it loosens something that has been tight in Phoenix’s chest since he entered the courthouse in the morning. “I didn’t think defense attorneys could, but even though there was evidence and - and it seemed certain - they were innocent and you proved it!” Her mouth hardens in a line of intense concentration. “I want to be a defense attorney,” she says. “Like you. I want to be able to save people, like you, because it’s possible if you did it!”

The constriction around his heart returns with a vengeance. “It’s not as easy as that,” Phoenix says. “Saving people, I mean.”

He avoids Edgeworth’s eyes. They had that conversation during the Engarde trial, back when Phoenix was still trying to hang onto his last bit of optimism and faith in Mia’s words to believe in his client. Back when Phoenix thought he might ever have some sort of moral high ground. There was a crossroads he and Edgeworth met at, then, and Phoenix took the path that Edgeworth had just left behind. And Edgeworth became better than Phoenix ever was. 

Athena frowns. “But they weren’t guilty, and you saved them from the guilty verdict. Trials and investigations are complicated but that’s simple enough isn’t it?”

“Conceptually, anyway,” Phoenix says. 

“A career in law isn’t just something you pursue on a whim like this,” Edgeworth says, and again Phoenix avoids his eyes. This one is aimed straight at him. “It’s a lot of work that you have to dedicate yourself entirely to, and—”

“I know!” Athena says. “I know how much work it is! And how hard the Bar is! And what a mess the system at home in LA is! But I’ve wanted to for years. I just - I didn’t know how. And I didn’t think it could be anything but fighting losing battles.” Again she looks between them, her head tilted, assessing them with eyes and ears both. “But I could! I could, right?”

“You could,” Phoenix says. It isn’t his place to try and crush her. Studying for the Bar would do that if she wasn’t truly determined. “I’ve known some young prosecutors who got their badges abroad, so I don’t see why a budding defense lawyer couldn’t.” Sometimes he’s pretty sure that prosecutors get more leeway to even get the badge - he knows damn well they get more leeway when it comes to conduct while having the badge - but he glances at Edgeworth, who doesn’t make motion to say no, she couldn’t. 

“I’m not too young, am I?” she asks, slumping from what was a moment ago bright confidence. She wheels quickly through emotions, and Phoenix doesn’t remember much about being thirteen, but he does remember feeling everything too much, and like was the end of the world. Hell, he felt like that at twenty, too. 

“My sister got her badge at thirteen,” Edgeworth says. Phoenix can hear the twinge of bitterness. They’ve talked about that, the age of some prosecutors, how they’re so young, too young, set loose to be too easily manipulated by the older people around them. How Franziska should have been allowed to be a child instead just a name. 

But Athena beams, that Edgeworth had addressed her with something that is in one facet encouragement. “I’m thirteen now, so I don’t think I can manage that,” she says. “But I’m already a grade ahead in school so what’s a few more?”

“That’s the spirit,” Phoenix says. 

Again her smile disappears and she fidgets, bringing her arms tight across her chest. “You probably have investigating to do,” she says. “And I’m talking about how important that is and then I’m taking up all your time.”

“It’s all right,” Phoenix assures her. “Edgeworth’s used to finding more kids to advise, huh?” He nudges Edgeworth with his elbow. “And I don’t mind, either. I know how important it was for me to find someone to look up to when I was starting as a law student.”

Athena nods solemnly. “Can I give you my email address?” she asks. “For if I want honest answers about being a lawyer?”

“You don’t think there’s anyone else who can be honest?” Phoenix asks. 

Athena shrugs. “You haven’t really talked down to me, either,” she says. 

His heart, what’s left of it, what isn’t yet frozen, screams in protest. He isn’t a good person to be around - he can’t be a mentor - he’s afraid to love his best friends and his own daughter - he can’t just strike up another correspondence. He might’ve let his emails with Ema trickle out for a reason, and that reason is that he knows the road that Death takes him down, and god only knows what Misfortune will add.

But in the same way he’s afraid because she looks like Trucy, because she’s thirteen years old and bright of mind and bright of smile, he wants to help her. Help her because Mia helped him, like he just mentioned Mia, and he compared to Athena must have looked like far less promising a candidate to take under wing.

(Strange girls from Los Angeles, blessed or fae, another following in his wake. Trucy’s sharp eyes. Athena’s sharp ears. Good for poker, good for witness interrogations. He keeps seeing Trucy or even Ema, not Maya or Pearl.)

(Christ, he’s not adopting her, though.)

“Edgeworth,” Phoenix says. “Do you have a pen and a business card or something? So I can give her my contact info?”

Edgeworth sighs. “Honestly,” he says. “You should at least have a pen and some paper on you. You’re an investigator, you can’t just slack off - and you’re giving her my information too?”

“Yeah,” Phoenix says. “It’s important to know your enemy. See the other side.”

Edgeworth’s glare could split rock, but fortunately, Phoenix’s head is harder than that. “Of course!” Athena says. “That’s very important! And, oh, I never introduced myself to you, Prosecutor Edgeworth!” She extends a hand and he starts, taken aback by her boldness. “My name’s Athena, Athena Cykes!” 

Ah, a last name too, this time. Edgeworth blinks slowly and accepts her hand even more hesitantly. “Cykes?” he repeats slowly, quietly, like he’s not aware of her being there right in front of him to hear him.

She nods eagerly. “Yep! Athena Cykes.”

“Cykes,” he says again, dragging it out like a hiss. “Athena Cykes.” Edgeworth isn’t good with names, Phoenix notices and usually hasn’t pointed out to him when he gets them mixed up, but maybe he’s finally noticed it himself. He’s taking care not to end up calling her Artemis Psyche later, maybe. “Nice to meet you, Miss Cykes.” He releases her hand and then goes into his jacket pocket to pull out a business card. Athena’s grin widens, and Phoenix indulges in a small smile. So she’s won him over now, too. “Now, I suppose…” He hands the card, and a pen, to Phoenix, even though he just as quickly could write down Phoenix’s email and number and office address. It’s the principle of the thing, surely.

“Thank you!” Athena practically squeals when she takes the card from Phoenix. “Thank you both so much, Mr Wright, Prosecutor Edgeworth! Good luck on your case! I’ll let you go to it now! Au revoir!” 

“Even I know that’s not German!” Phoenix calls at her back, and her laugh lingers after she bolts around the corner.

-----

[chapter notes]

[eryiss]

Gambler’s Luck - Chapter Eleven

Summary: A drunken night at a bar; that’s how it always starts. A few shots, some self loathing and a decision you would never make when sober. But for Laxus Dreyar, the morning after doesn’t include regret, copious amounts of aspirin and a stranger in his bed. For he only made one drunken decision, becoming the personal driver for professional gambler - Freed Justine. [Fraxus Multi-Chap]

You can read it on FanFiction, Archive of Our Own or under the cut. You can also see the chapter list here. Hope you enjoy ^.^

Chapter Eleven – The Aftermath

"Mom?"

Laxus' head was swirling with a mess of emotions, most of which were less than positive. He felt as though he couldn't move, as if he were being weighed down by the large ball of anxiousness and nausea that had suddenly invaded his stomach. He couldn't make himself blink, let alone move his eyes away from the woman standing before him. The woman who he hadn't seen face to face in the entirety of his adult life. The woman who left him.

He caught himself scanning her, eyes harsh and unforgiving. Despite knowing it was perhaps immature and vain, he was focusing on her physical flaws – such as the fact she looked significantly older here than she did on TV – rather than anything positive. Because, as far as he was concerned, Sophia Dreyar had nothing positive to speak of.

After an overly harsh physical assessment of his mother, Laxus finally looked towards her face.

It seemed that she too was intaking the rare sight, however her gaze on Laxus was substantially less critical than Laxus' was of her. She had an almost soft expression in her eye, mixed with a small amount of what might have been shock. That was justified, the last time she had seen him was when he was a teenager, with only blonde hair and a slightly jagged facial scar to connect the boy he was then and the man he now was. Despite himself, Laxus had to wonder if she was impressed at all with the person he had become. At least, he assumed it was wonderment; perhaps it was hope.

Shrugging that thought off before it could fester, he took a single step forward. It seemed the movement had slightly shocked Sophia. Maybe she expected him to ignore her or walk away, perhaps he should have. Instead, he spoke.

"How d'you know I'd be here?" He demanded, hostility obvious in his voice.

It wasn't the right question to ask, Laxus would conclude in retrospect, but it was one he needed the answer of. He and his mother hadn't had the means to contact each other for years at that point – not even having each other's phone numbers – and the last time Laxus had talked to her he had been living with his grandfather. So, for her to know where he lived, someone would have had to have told her without thinking to consult him.

"I called your grandfather and he told me." Sophia confessed, apparently not effected by the clear hostile tone. Laxus would have been offended by this, if he wasn't grinding his teeth at the fact it was Makarov of all people who had told Sophia his address. "It took a little convincing. Well, a lot, actually. He obviously cares for you a lot."

The teeth grinding continued. Perhaps this was a continuation of his conscious effort to look for the worst of her, but he couldn't help think that she was trying to justify Makarov being his guardian by complimenting him. To Laxus, it felt like she was almost congratulating herself or letting herself off the hook because the person he ended up with was suitable. He opened his mouth, fully willing to voice that, but stopped short and just sighed.

"You know what. I've had a long fucking day and I don't have the…" He closed his eyes for a moment. "I'm too tired for this shit right now."

He walked forward, passing her without a single glance. From his peripheral vision he could see her turning around so her eyes were still on him, and he couldn't help but notice the expression of sadness. His cynicism made it hard to believe the expression was anything but selfish.

As he got to the door to his building and reached into his pocket for his keys, he could hear the soft clicking of his mother's heals against the pavement getting closer. He jaw clenched slightly as he reached inside his pocket, wishing to god he could find his damn key. But, before he manged to fish them out, his mother was standing close to him again.

"Please Laxus, at least let me talk." She said, Laxus not looking towards her. "I know I haven't- I've not been a good mother to you. That's why I'm here, because I want to make it right."

Laxus' posture went rigid, and he had to clench his fist so that he could at least slightly contain his anger. His chest started to obviously expand and retract under the fur lined coat he wore as he turned, a narrow-eyed glare adorning his face as he looked down at the woman.

"Are you fucking kidding?" He all but snarled. "You want to make it right! Seriously. You haven't seen me for twelve fucking years! Twelve years of literally nothing, having no fucking mother, and then you come back randomly. Just as my life is becoming somewhat sane and maybe even good again, and you say you want to make it right. No 'how are you?' or 'I've missed you,' or, hell, 'I'm sorry for fucking off to another shitting continent.' We just go straight back to you. How you messed up and how you wanna make it right, because it's all about you. And, by the way, 'I wanna make it right' sounds like something you read on the dust jacket of some crappy parenting book."

Sophia seemed somewhat shocked by the sudden yelling, which had gotten louder with each word. She went to speak, but Laxus want finished.

"And good job on realising you weren't a good mother. Must have been tough to figure it out." Laxus snapped sarcastically. "It's not like there was any obvious signs, I'm sure most good parents leave their kids under the care of their elderly grandparent who, for all you knew, could have died any day."

"It wasn't my intention to leave you with him for as-"

"Yeah, I know. You only meant to have me live with gramps for a couple months while you were on assignment or whatever. You said that before, when you actually made an effort to keep in touch with me." The blonde was breathing audibly now. "But then, when you realised life without some kid hanging around you neck was something you wanted, you jumped at the chance to duck out and live there permanently."

He had to stop himself from continuing. He was incredibly angry, obviously, but he didn't want to say something he would later regret so needed to stop before that could happens. Instead, he closed his eyes and made an effort to focus on his breathing, unclenching both his fist and his jaw. It calmed him, if only a little.

There was a moment of silence between the two, and Laxus tried not to think too hard about the fact Sophia had yet to deny Laxus' accusation. In the silence, Laxus found himself more aware of his surroundings more than usual. The sounds of the cars passing melded with his audible breathing, he could better smell the dried oil from the nearby mechanics and the rotting fruit from his building's dumpster which had yet to be emptied. He also realised that his neighbours on the lower floor of his building would almost defiantly hear him and would be able to identify who was causing the noise, so he needed to make sure he didn't yell again. His landlord was incredibly intolerant, so even the smallest of complaints from other residents could have gotten him in trouble.

"Laxus, I know I've not been the mother you deserve." She repeated. "That I didn't do the things a mother should have done. And I don't think I'll ever be able to make up for that entirely, but I want to at least try."

He was silent for a moment. The forced calmness, combined with evening atmosphere of the city, gave him a small feeling of level-headedness.

"What does a mother do?" He asked, voice even and unwavering. Sophia looked somewhat confused, perhaps expecting a continuation of the yelling. "Seriously, other than feeding and washing a kid, what d'you think a mother does? And don't give me the boring crap that anyone knows, give me what a real mother does, not just a cliché TV mom."

Sophia opened her mouth, intending to answer, but Laxus felt his annoyance rise up again and cut her off.

"Because here's what I think." A small rise in volume occurred in his voice again. "An actual mother would force me to play a sport I have no interest in as a kid, or help me bake shitty cupcakes for a bake-sale, or give me some awkward talk about not getting a girl pregnant or whatever. The crappy little stuff that you don't think means anything at the time, but you look back on and you just think it was nice or important or something that needed to happen. That kinda stuff I never got."

"I really do understand I could have been a much better parent." Sophia said again, and Laxus had to stop himself from muttering something about her constant repeating. "We could have both tried a little more in keeping in contact, and I can't-"

"What the fuck did you just say." Laxus almost was laughing as he spoke. "We could have both tried to keep in contact? Are you being serious? You're trying to push some of the blame onto me!"

Perhaps Sophia had replied to that, but Laxus had gone passed listening to her. For a short moment, he truly believed that she was trying to be unselfish and really did care more about Laxus than the past suggested. But the suggestion that the breakdown of their relationship – which had been shattered when he was ten years old no less – was in any way his fault told him everything he needed to know. She was just the same as she always had been.

Calming himself down again with the breathing exercises that he had become well versed in at that point, he turned back to his mother and looked her dead in the eye. When he spoke, there was venom in his words.

"You left me in the care of an old man while my father was in prison for doing this to my fucking face." He gestured to the scar covering his eye. "You promised you'd come back and you didn't. I was ten years old, I was confused, and I was vulnerable. And you left me. So don't you dare try and drag me down to your level."

The blonde had to step back, using the small amount of distance between him and his mother to calm himself down further. He ran a hand through his hair and slicked it back, noting that it had been slightly laced in sweat throughout the last few minutes. He paced forward slightly, again trying to focus on all the sounds of the city, knowing that if he began to think through what he had said he might start to regret it or second-guess it. In his heart, he knew he might have been too harsh but what he said needed to come out.

He looked back to see that Sophia was looking at him, perhaps with shock at the bluntness of his words. Although it might have been unfair in retrospect, Laxus wanted his mother to feel guilty and bad at what she had done.

"I just- I just can't do this." Laxus shook his head slightly, looking over his shoulder towards Sophia. "I need some time to think. I didn't have any- I just need some- I can't."

Looking forward again, he turned his back on the door to his building and began to walk away. He needed some fresh air and time to clear his thoughts, and he didn't think his tiny apartment was the right place for either. As he walked, he could hear the harsh clicking of heels against the pavement again, so he stopped and looked over his shoulder.

"Don't follow me, I swear to god." He said, resolve breaking slightly. "And don't be here when I get back because… just don't be here."

His head was hung slightly low and posture was small for his size. He walked forward again, this time not accompanied with the sound of clicking against the pavement. He went to turn the corner away from his building's door but stopped and looked back.

His mother was standing there still, watching with an expression of sadness. He couldn't be sure with the distance between them, but there was a likely chance that she was crying, and he naively assumed that the tears might just be real. He turned around fully and spoke again, the anger that had overtaken his voice now gone.

"I can't do this now." His voice cracked slightly. "I'm sorry."

-----

Mind in a daze, Laxus slowly inputted a code into a keypad, pushed open an expensive looking glass door and walked into an unfamiliar apartment building. He looked around absentmindedly, taking note of the granite floors, extravagant looking elevator doors, multiple different forms of lighting and even the occasional fern. The lobby was a stark contrast to the entrance of his own apartment building, but one he had expected.

He had been wandering around the city for just over an hour, emotions still a swirling mess and the fresh air not doing much to alleviate that. He'd been switching back and forth between overanalysing everything that had happened with his mother to blatantly ignoring what had been said. Neither option was helping.

Over the hour he'd considered doing a lot of things. He was half tempted to call his grandfather or turn up at his place and berate him for what could be considered a betrayal of his trust, but he knew that Makarov was doing what he thought was best. He'd considered calling up Cana or Mirajane and trying to work through it with them, but they had made it clear that they were not to be troubled on their date night and Laxus didn't want to risk their combined rage. He'd even toyed with the idea of going to a crappy bar he walked past and drinking himself into a stupor, but found himself oddly unattracted by that.

So, considering the amount of debate he'd given to every other thought that had crossed his mind, it confused the blonde how he had instantly decided to call Freed the moment the idea came to him.

The conversation was short. Freed had been confused to have Laxus call him so soon after they parted for the day but, despite Laxus' efforts to hide his mess of emotions, Freed had immediately sensed it. He didn't push the issue, but after Laxus was overly flippant about what had happened, Freed had suggested Laxus should visits his apartment so that they could talk, or at least he could be distracted. Laxus hadn't needed much convincing.

Although he had yet to see where Freed lived at that point, he knew the area fairly well. It was closer to the city centre that Laxus' apartment, and he'd actually been there on his garbage run once or twice when someone on that route had called in sick. It was a pretty nice building in a pretty nice area, but he shouldn't have been shocked to see that.

He made a bee-line for the two elevators, ignoring the slightly hesitant look of the security guard from behind the small desk. He supposed it was justified enough, he was slightly dishevelled from both the argument and the walk, so he wouldn't have looked like the usual occupants and guests that arrived at the building. But he had as much a right to be there as anyone else and, as long as the security guy didn't try and kick him out based on his looks alone, there was no point in getting angry. He didn't have the energy for it anyway.

After walking into the elevator and pushing the button for Freed's floor, he leant against the cool metal walls and sighed, relaxing slightly. He ran his hands through his hair and slicked it back again, letting out a small, whispered cuss as he rested for the first time resting since seeing his mother.

"Shit."

The ride to the twelfth floor of Freed's building didn't take too long, and he soon found his way to the apartment Freed claimed was his. After knocking on the door, he didn't have to wait for long until Freed opened it. Since he'd last seen him, his boss had removed his jacket, waistcoat and tie, also having tied his hair higher than what Laxus had seen of it before.

Freed welcomed him in and allowed him inside, Laxus scanning the apartment as he entered. The walls connected to the exterior of the building had the brick exposed and hosted large windows, while the other walls just covered by white paint. Wooden beams stretched across the high ceiling, small spotlights hanging from them to light up the room. The furniture was modern and minimalist, with a small kitchen to the side with the same colour scheme and design choices. Laxus had half expected him to live in some eye wateringly expensive penthouse but, compared to his own apartment, anything was impressive; and the apartment seemed quintessentially Freed in a way that Laxus couldn't vocalise.

"Nice place." Is what he eventually settled on, standing somewhat awkwardly near the sitting room area of the open plan room.

"Thank you. I'm happy with it." Freed said as he motioned to one of the two sofas, Laxus sitting down after. "Would you like something to eat or drink? I can cook you something if you haven't had time to get any dinner yet."

"No need. Got a burger when I was walking around, it'll tide me over for the night." Laxus said as he looked around the apartment further, leaning back on the sofa. Freed nodded but continued to look at Laxus; it took the blonde a few moments to realise why. "Erm, I'll have a bear if you've got one. But if you don't, water or something. Don't mind really."

Freed nodded and walked to his fridge, picking up two bottles of beer and placing them on the counter. As the bottle tops were removed, Laxus took note that it was the same brand of beer that he brought for himself. He flashed a split second smile towards Freed in thanks as he reached for the condensation covered bottle, watching as the other man sat down on the other sofa and took a gulp of his own drink.

A single glance at his boss told him all he needed to know. Freed wasn't looking directly at him, but his body language aimed more towards him than the wall mounted TV, so obviously Freed was more interested in him than anything else; Laxus had realised that you could learn a lot from Freed's body language if you knew what to look for.

"You're off your game." Laxus chuckled, getting Freed's attention. "You'd be a poor man if you were always as easy to read as you are right now."

The look on Freed's face was almost comical. Even if it was just a slight dilation in his eyes and a tiny parting of the lips, the idea of Freed's usually unflappable persona being broken was somewhat amusing. And, even if it was fixed a moment later, Laxus felt a small sense of pride in being able to cause the momentary break.

"You're not a client, I hardly think it fair to treat you like one." Freed said, sipping at his beer. Laxus grinned a little, identifying the weak excuse for what it was. "Besides, being closed off is tiring. Why would I do it now, I've nothing to hide from you."

"Fair enough." Laxus chuckled, before letting out a sigh. "So, I guess you wanna know what happened."

"You don't have to tell me if you're not comfortable." Freed immediately assured, but Laxus shook his head.

"Nah. Came here uninvited, least I can do is to tell ya why." Laxus forced out another chuckle, clicking his tongue against his mouth slightly after speaking. "Not like I've got something to be ashamed about."

The blonde shifted slightly, placing his beer on the floor beside the sofa. He raised an eyebrow at Freed when he did this, silently asking it was okay. Freed gestured that it was fine, which somehow made Laxus feel a little more comfortable. The place was immaculate, almost like a show home, so the fact Freed wasn't overly protective of his floors lessened the stress and made him feel just that little bit more… at home.

What also made him feel comfortable was how Freed had turned entirely towards him and was looking directly at his face. Oddly, he noticed the other mans eyes. He hardly ever got to see Freed's eyes, even at the bar they usually sat adjacent to each other. He hadn't noticed how attentive they were until that point. God, he was assessing his bosses eyes; he really was a mess of emotions.

"Long story short, my mom was waiting outside my apartment." He confessed, Freed silently waiting for further explanation. "Last time I saw her, or even talked to her, was twelve years ago."

"Twelve years?" Freed said slowly after a moment. "So, the last time you saw her was when you were…"

"Fourteen, yeah." Laxus let out a bitter single laugh. "I'm sure you can guess it was kind of a shock when I saw her waiting out there."

"I can imagine." Freed said, swigging her beer again. "May I ask why you have such a… strained relationship with each other. If it's not invasive of course."

"Don't mind telling ya, but it might bore you. And I don't wanna seem like I'm feeling sorry for myself." Laxus smiled weakly, but Freed assured him that he wouldn't get bored and certainly wouldn't feel like that. "Guess I should start from the beginning. God, that sounded really cliché to say, sorry."

Freed had a patient expression on his face as he spoke. "You needn't second-guess yourself so much. I promise I wont judge you on whatever happened."

"Picked up on that huh. You're a therapist in disguise, I swear." Laxus shook his head, Freed chuckling slightly at that.

There was a moment of silence between them both, Freed patiently waiting for Laxus to begin when he wanted. The blonde was now acutely aware that he had only known Freed for a few short months, and that expose some personal stuff about him that may make him seem pretty vulnerable. But, with just a glance into Freed's eyes, he felt the sincerity in Freed's assurance that he wouldn't be judged. He leant forward slightly and continued.

"She's a news presenter. When I was a kid, she was pretty new to it and just got a job on a network show. They asked her to cover some European thing and it meant she would have to be there for a couple months. She couldn't take me with her – I was ten, my school probably wouldn't have wanted me to leave for a couple months – and she claimed she needed to take the assignment 'cause she was new and if she said no she would have been demoted; probably a load of crap she sold me trying to justify what happened, but that's what she says. Sorry, off topic. So yeah, she left for Europe for a couple months and left me living with my grandad, the guy you saw a while ago.

"When she was there, she caught the eye of some local news company or something. She claimed they liked her and wanted to take her on as an anchor full time, meaning she would have to move there full time as well. Not sure exactly what happened, gramps was cagey about it at the time and I cared less and less when I got older, but that's about it. And, basically, she took it."

Another silence fell as Freed allowed a frown to fall on his face.

"She just accepted a job in another country – continent even – without discussing it?" Freed asked after a moment. Laxus nodded his head. "That's… shit. Of her to do, I mean."

"Don't think I've heard you cuss before." Laxus almost laughed at his own response, even if it was true. "But yeah, it was shit of her. Gets even worse as well. She didn't even tell me herself. Called Gramps, explained what she'd decided and that her new job meant she didn't have any days off in months so couldn't come back and tell me herself. Meant she left Gramps to break it to me. Mother of the year, right?"

"That's atrocious. Not only to do that, but to put the pressure on her father."

"Not even her father. Grandparents on that side of the family died before I was born." Laxus took a large gulp of the beer he had picked up again. "But yeah. At the start, it wasn't too bad. We called each other and emailed a lot, with Gramps' help. She started to get busier and I was going through puberty, so communication kinda started to trail off. After a couple years, we only really talked on the holidays and my birthday. Still wanted her to be there, but I was becoming a teenager and getting all rebellious, so wouldn't admit it."

Laxus raised the beer to his lips again, only to find out he'd drained it faster than he had expected. He looked up to Freed, who had noticed the empty bottle and nodded towards the kitchen, silently offering him permission to get another. The blonde took the offer and was soon in the kitchen, also planning to get another beer for Freed after noticing he had nearly finished his own.

In spite of the conversation, or perhaps as a distraction from it, he found himself assessing the kitchen. Not only was it as clean and modern as the rest of the apartment, but it also contained a fully stocked spice rack, various types of cooking equipment, and even an overhead pan rack. When he saw the fridge was fully stocked and perfectly organised, he came to the conclusion Freed wasn't the type to get fast food or go to a restaurant every night. He found himself weirdly wishing he had taken up Freed's offer to have him cook to see how good he was, but it would be an abuse of his hospitality.

Besides, the small respite from the conversation ended when he turned back around. Freed obviously had questions – Laxus couldn't blame him – and perhaps Laxus needed to get this off his chest so he could move past it. He removed the bottle caps, handed one beer to Freed and sat back down. This time, he sat beside Freed on the same sofa.

"You said you haven't spoken in years." Freed said after a moment. "Did that come about naturally or did something happen?"

"My birthday. Was turning fourteen and she said she would visit and actually be there. Would have been the first time she could be in the country on my birthday since she left. She called gramps the night before to tell him she had to cancel – some volcano in Italy was acting up when it wasn't predicted to or something so she had to cover it – but I picked up. She ended up telling me instead, we got into an argument. She claimed I needed to understand her point of view and that I was being selfish, so I cussed her out, hung up and that was it. Until today."

"And after all this time, and after leaving it like that, she just turned up unannounced?" Freed questioned, Laxus nodding. "I'm assuming that went well."

"She claimed she wanted to make things right. We argued, got pretty heated. I yelled a lot, probably pissed off my neighbours." He groaned at the thought, hoping none of his neighbours had been in a bad mood that evening. "She said we both could have made more of an effort to keep in contact, so I exploded at her. Kinda feel guilty now."

"Don't." Freed said instantly with more force than Laxus was used to. "You're her child. And after what she did, it should be entirely her responsibility to make an effort."

Slightly taken aback by the tone of voice Freed spoke in, which was unwavering and without doubt, Laxus had to pause and looked towards his boss. The look he got was unique, most of the people he had told about his mother treated him with pity, but Freed seemed different. Other than the small amount of anger that had seeped into the final thing he had said, Freed hadn't really shown any emotions. It felt as if Freed was letting Laxus be the emotional one, which he felt slightly comforted with.

"I do have one more question, if you don't mind." Freed continued after a moment. "You never mentioned your father. Was he around for you?"

"No. When my mom left, he was in prison. Whenever he was out, gramps kept him as far away from me as possible." Again, he laughed bitterly. He hardly ever voiced his parental issued, whenever he did he always realised how ridiculous it sounded. "Sorry, I know that probably brings up a crap ton of questions, but I don't have the energy to go into it now."

"Oh, of course." Freed smiled. "I'm glad that you're comfortable enough to tell me what you did."

"Surprised you didn't get bored. Sure you've had just as many issued with your own parents."

"Not exactly." Freed chuckled. "I don't have parents."

Laxus paused at that, frowning and looking towards Freed again. His boss seemed somewhat amused by the expression if the grin on his face was real, but Laxus didn't pay too much attention to that. He was too busy trying to process the fact that Freed had revealed, quite flippantly, he didn't have parents. Surely that wasn't the way he revealing his parents had died, he would have done that in a more sensitive way.

Freed chuckled at the obvious confusion at his statement. "I grew up in the care system. I was never adopted, so never had parents."

"Oh, shit." Laxus said, somewhat annoyed that he hadn't thought about that. He then realised something. "Mira, Elf and Lisanna grew up in care, didn't they?"

"They were, that's where we met. Although, they were adopted when me and Mira were teenagers." Freed explained, Laxus nodding along slightly. "In case you're wondering, we tell people we met at school because we both want to make sure we don't accidentally reveal the fact we were in care before the other's comfortable enough to tell someone themselves. Obviously, you now know both of us were in care, so there's no point in being candid about it."

"Glad you trust me enough to tell me." Laxus nodded. "You ever know what happened with your parents?"

"No. I know they were both there when I was admitted to the orphanage, and that I was new-born." Freed took another gulp of his fresh beer. "I also know that at least one of them was alive when I became eighteen. They sent a picture of me to them, its customary. But they never made the effort to get into contact with me, and I've been fine without them."

Laxus quickly realised why Freed had been so certain that it should have been his mother's job to make contact with him, because he himself felt the same things about his own parents. He also felt a sense of guilt that he had spent pretty much the entirety of their time together that night bitching about his own parents while Freed arguable had much bigger issued with his own family.

"Don't give me that look." Freed said. "You're more than justified in being angry at your mother. And I'm not so arrogant that I'll forsake anyone who says anything bad about their family out of spite."

"If you're sure." Laxus spoke a little quieter than before.

Silence filled the room again. This time, it felt as though there was no negativity hanging over them. Perhaps he was overthinking things, but Laxus felt a strange sense of comfort in the fact both he and Freed had crappy parents. It felt as though Freed could perhaps understand him more than most people could claim to, which was something he didn't often experience.

He leant back in his seat and drowned the rest of his beer, groaning slightly as he relaxed. After a moment, he picked up the three empty bottles – Freed was still making his way though his second drink – and brought them over to the kitchen to dispose of. He thought that, as he was imposing himself on Freed and drinking his alcohol, he could at least help keep the place tidy. Freed hadn't said anything about it, so he suspected Freed didn't mind.

Eventually, when both men were sure that the conversation was over, Freed had decided to switch on the TV and put on some mindless quiz show. Laxus was appreciative of this, mainly as it meant he wasn't being kicked out. He was weirdly comfortable in Freed's apartment.

As the evening went on, the atmosphere became more relaxed. They talked over the TV, partly about their work and partly about whatever show found itself on the TV as the night continued. Laxus felt himself becoming more and more comfortable as time progressed, possibly even more so than he did at his own apartment. That was most likely due to the company, sitting in his dingy place in practically silence didn't lead to the most enjoyable atmosphere.

He had noticed that, after their conversation about parents, Freed had almost reverted to his unreadable self that he presented to his clients. He hoped he hadn't been intrusive with his questions but suspected that if Freed didn't want to answer something, he wouldn't have. The fact he had returned to his snarky, quick-witted fairly soon after self also helped Laxus with convincing himself that it wasn't his fault that Freed clammed up again.

"Shit." The blonde cussed as he glanced at his phone. "It's nearly midnight."

"Really?" Freed questioned, looking to the clock he had mounted on his wall. "Damn, that certainly came out of nowhere."

"Yeah. Guess I should go." Laxus said, standing up. "You probably don't want me hanging around your neck for any longer."

"Are you sure you're okay to get there on your own?" Freed questioned, watching as Laxus picked up the coat that had been slung over the armrest of the unused sofa. "It's pretty late and you're a little drunk. You probably don't have the best control of yourself right now."

"If I didn't know any better, I would have though you sounded worried about me." Laxus grinned.

"Of course I'm worried, I know where you live." Freed smirked. "It's one barrel-fire away from looking like The Walking Dead. And you stumbling about, groaning and struggling to get through a door won't help that image."

"You're funny, ain't ya?" Laxus chuckled.

"Of course, it's why you're laughing." Freed's smirk intensified. "But honestly, if you want to spend the night here you're more than welcome to. This is a sofa bed and I'm sure you wouldn't want to trek all the way to your apartment at the middle of the night."

Laxus was slightly taken aback aby that. He had expected Freed to offer to order him a taxi at the most, certainly not give him his living room for the night. Part of him felt as though Freed was only offering out of obligation and if he accepted it, he would be abusing Freed's hospitality. But everything he knew about Freed said that he wouldn't have said something if he didn't mean it, it was a trait he appreciated in his boss. Too many people lied just to be polite, so having someone as blunt as him was something Laxus liked.

He took a few moments to consider the offer. It was true that he really didn't want to walk to his apartment in the middle of the night, and the buzz from the beer was making his vision slightly blurred, so he concluded that it would be best to not risk it.

"You sure?" He asked to make sure, Freed nodding. "Thanks, appreciate it."

"It's no trouble. I'll get you some sheets, you can set the bed up yourself if you'd like." Freed stood up. "You'll have to move the coffee table, I don't mind where you put it. The bed comes out if you pull the switch under the armrest"

Laxus nodded as Freed walked to one of the doors, most likely to his bedroom. Laxus carefully removed the ornaments off the wooden coffee table, lifted it up and moved it so it was adjacent to the dining table, then placing the ornaments back onto it in the same way they had been before; for all he knew, Freed might have had some weird OCD about coffee tables. He then flicked the switch under the armrest of the sofa, having to take a quick step back as it quickly sprung out in front of him. After nudging it to make sure it was stable, he sat down and surmised that, just like the sofa itself, the mattress was pretty comfortable.

Freed soon returned, a large duvet, some pillows and bed sheets slung over his arm. Laxus stood up and walked to Freed, removing the pillows and sheet from his arms and placing them on the mattress. Laxus noticed his boss glance to the coffee table and see it was laid out in the same way, but he didn't say anything so Laxus didn't either.

"I'll leave you to make the bed yourself." Freed said, placing the folded duvet beside the pillows and sheets. "Feel free to get something to drink or eat in the night if you want it. The bathroom's on the left side of the hall. And if, for whatever reason, you need me don't hesitate to wake me up. I might be a little hostile, but the sword on my wall's just for display."

"Thanks, that good of- you have a sword on your wall?"

"I used to fence. I keep my sword as a momentum from it."

"Okay." Laxus chuckled a little. "But seriously, thanks, you didn't need to do this. You didn't, like, give me the sheets off your own bed did ya?"

"I like you, Laxus, but not that much." Freed grinned a little.

"So if you didn't have any you would have left me in here to freeze." Laxus crossed his arms, feigning offense. "That's cold, Freed. Even for your standards."

"Yes I would and yes it is." Freed smirked, also crossing his arms in a challenging way. "And anyway, your coat is large and absurd enough to take the place of a blanket if you needed it."

"My coat ain't absurd." Laxus said with exaggerated offence, before grinning and playing up his hurt further. "I'll have you know it's the most fashionable thing I own."

"Then I weep for your wardrobe." Freed smirked. "See you in the morning, Laxus."

"See ya, Freed."

Freed began to walk towards his bedroom, hearing Laxus shuffle around the room slightly as he began to put the sheets over the mattress of his bed for the night. He glanced over his shoulder as he reached the door to his bedroom after hearing the shuffling stop, seeing that Laxus was looking directly at him. He frowned, waiting for Laxus to speak.

"Seriously, thanks." Laxus said with sincerity in his voice. "Not just for letting me sleep here. Not many people would let me rant like you did, then get my mind of it and salvage the day. So… thanks for that."

"Don't mention it." Freed smiled.

That was all that needed to be said. Laxus went about making up the bed and Freed retired to his bedroom. After shutting the door, Freed let out a small breath that he hadn't realised he was holding in. He walked to his bed and sat on it, removing the tie from his hair and running a hand through the long green locks. He leant back slightly, realising something. He had a problem.

Up until that point, his relationship with Laxus had been entirely platonic. The fact Laxus was attractive in his eyes, something that he had eventually had to accept after Loke initially brought it up, had never been an issue as they were just becoming friends. That changed that night.

Something about seeing Laxus in a more vulnerable state, and offering Laxus a sense of vulnerability of his own, had changed this. It had shifted their relationship from being new and fairly shallow to something much more real. Worse still, this new sense of connection had lead to Freed's positive thoughts of Laxus increasing. Not only was Laxus the trustworthy employee who could also make him laugh, he was now someone who he could almost confide in. Someone he trusted and who trusted him, something that didn't come easily with Freed. It certainly didn't usually come as fast as it had with his employee.

With a silent exhale of breath, he realised that his relationship with Laxus defiantly wasn't just that of a boss and an employee. Nor did it conform to that of a typical friendship, at least not with Freed. He wasn't entirely sure what it was, but he was beginning to get worried about it.

He found Laxus endearing and exciting in a way that was new to him. He had a good idea of what that meant, but the reality of admitting that was much harder than he expected. But there was no denying what it was: the beginning of romantic attraction.

For the second time that day, he cussed.

"Shit."

Hey all. I hope you all liked the angst, some boss and employee bonding and the longest chapter I've written so far. This might have been my favourite part of the story this far in, so I hope you all liked it as much as I liked writing it. And I hope you all enjoy my version of Laxus' mother, she's a little different to what I think most people will expect, but I like her and I hope you do to.

Thanks for reading. Any reblogs and comments mean the world :)

[mysticalreadingnerd]

Machetes and Near Death Experiences (A Steve Harrington x Reader imagine)

Words: 5286

Summary: Being a babysitter for the Party requires a full set of abilities. Battling inter-dimensional monsters, being a machete swinging pro and managing a bunch of dorks with a penchant for attracting danger being just a few. Add Steve Harrington to the mix and things get a lot more interesting.

Warnings: swearing, violence, Dustin being a sassy cutie

  Disclaimer: I don't own Stranger Things or any of its characters. This is merely me turning my wishful thinking into reader insert imagines. GIF credits to the owner.

“Harrington?”

No answer.

“Harrington, what do you think you’re doing?”

Still no reply.

“Hey this ain’t funny, dammit!”

You weaved a frustrated hand through your hair as you watched the former King of Hawkins High leave the safe haven of the boarded bus in a bid to ‘expand the menu’ as Dustin put it. “Stay here and whatever you do, don’t open the door unless I tell you to.” You ordered the kids in a no nonsense manner and they merely nodded. They knew you enough from previous babysitting sessions to not mess with your instructions. Gripping your machete tightly, you followed the low growling that was slowly filling the night air. “Y/N what are you doing here? It’s not safe...” “Exactly asshole, you need someone to watch your back here. I won’t let you turn this into a suicide mission”, you answered as a demo-dog entered your field of vision. Steve took its jump head-on, the baseball bat landing with a sickening crunch. “That was easier than I had...” another snarl interrupted his sentence as more beasts appeared out of the fog. “3’O clock! 3’O clock!” Lucas shouted and all Steve could do was utter a low “fuck”, as another beast jumped on you both. Snarling with razor sharp teeth, its face opened up in a macabre parody of a flower. Pushing Steve out of the way you swung the machete in an upward motion, slicing half of the petalled horror clean off. You had known this Upside Down shit was no laughing matter when you encountered it last year while babysitting the boys. Keeping El a secret had been a bitch but you had managed, somehow. So the Party knew they could trust to be handy when things started getting strange again. You were no telekinetic Mage like El but you could slash your way through with a machete alright. It was no surprise really, when Dustin showed up at your house with Harrington no less (that pairing had been odd but who were you to judge), asking for your help regarding certain ‘pet’ problems. Turns out, pesky pets were actually demogorgon hounds masquerading as slugs. Code red could have justified one demo-dog, what you weren’t prepared for were a dozen more menaces appearing out of nowhere. “I thought you said there was only one!” you screamed as Steve rolled off the hood of a rusting car, kicking off another demo-dog. Too many. There were too many to hold off. “Steve! Y/N! Abort! Abort! Abort!” Dustin shouted and you guys didn’t need more incentive to abandon a plan which had been foolhardy from the very beginning. The door was thrown open on your shouts and quickly slammed shut just as one of them lunged at the bus, crashing on the door and sliding down. A thrashing limb tried to get in and you heaved the machete, putting your strength behind the swing as you repeatedly clobbered it until it slinked right out. Steve readied his nail ridden bat and you huddled the kids behind you, switching the machete to your other hand. “You think they can bust through the door?” a loud thud echoed off the roof, answering your question. “Shit!” This was followed by a scream from Max the one closest to the ladder, when a demo-dog reared its ugly head through the roof. Steve pushed her towards you and landed a solid hit with the bat. But more kept coming, making him retreat towards you. He clutched your hand blindly, tightening his grip once he found it as if saying a silent goodbye and you started fearing the worst. You hoped you could at least shield the kids before they took you down, when the monsters suddenly withdrew. All of them. With Harrington in the lead, you gingerly opened the door and stepped out to investigate. The coast seemed clear for the time being. “What happened? Lucas asked. “Steve scared’em off? Dustin sounded hopeful. “No. No way”, he replied, “They are going somewhere.” Steve pointedly stared in the distance before shaking his head and looking at you, checking for any signs of injuries. “You okay?” you gave a small nod. “You?” “Peachy”, he answered. Sighing in relief, you took a step towards him. His expression softened on seeing your approach and he was about to say something when you interrupted it by hitting him on the arm. “OW! What the...” Another hit, this time harder. “THAT HURTS!” “It was MEANT TO!” you screamed, huffing loudly at his stupidity. Sighing, you said in a deathly calm voice, “You dare try another heroic stunt like that again Harrington and I won’t just use my fists next time”, you brandished the machete in his face. Steve put up his hands in surrender, nodding in awe. “She’s so cool!” Dustin exclaimed, earning a weird look from Lucas and Max. “Okay. What do we do next?” Lucas asked, finally letting go of Max’s hand. “We need to find out where they went. If they were called back, maybe we can find the source of it and come up with a plan on how to deal with them”, you replied, wiping the machete with your hand, trying to get the blood off. Steve stared at you for a bit longer than necessary, absentmindedly answering, “Yeah, yeah you’re right.” You trudged up ahead with Max and Lucas as Steve and Dustin brought up the rear. Following the sounds that echoed off in the distance was your best bet. More like, your only lead. “Dude, did you see how she swung that machete at the demo-dog? That was pure art in motion!” Unknown to you Dustin raved on, repeating the same movements, swinging with an imaginary weapon albeit much more clumsily, stumbling in the process. “Watch your steps, Henderson.” Steve warned. But he couldn’t have agreed more as his gaze unwittingly watched your shadowy figure walk with an arm slung over Max and Lucas’ shoulders, the machete tucked at your waist, its blade glinting under your plaid shirt. He had been expecting that darn monster to be sweepingly fast but he hadn’t been prepared to face a dozen salivating horrors. He would never admit it out loud but never had a woman looked more attractive than you swinging your machete to slice off inter-dimensional creatures. Dustin noticed his gaze on you and chuckled, “You getting sappy, Steve?” Snapping out of his daze, Steve replied, “Shut your trap, dipshit.” He hadn’t expected to be attracted to someone so soon after what happened with Nancy. Let alone start falling so fast and so hard. It made him wonder whether what he had felt for her was love to begin with. It had been all fuzzy butterflies and tumultuous emotions with Nancy, more feelings than actual understanding. Whereas with you, he got a sense that everything was much more real, as if he could never be more grounded and aware than when he was with you. He had been swept away by Nancy’s perfection, failing to see the cracks that had developed in that facade over time. On the other hand, he was awed by your ability to transform imperfections. You owned them as if they were worthy laurels to be worn with a head held high. But all this over thinking was in vain. There was nothing between you and him, he mused, and it never would be. Even though a part of him hoped otherwise. After all, you were Y/N L/N, a machete swinging, protective badass in plaid. You didn’t do sappy nonsense like romance. Right?

Steve couldn’t have been more wrong. You crouched in a corner of the Byers’ living room wondering what exactly you had gotten yourself into. Bob Newby’s death had come as a shock to all of you. You had interacted with him twice or thrice while babysitting Will and he was one of the nicest people you knew. Slightly weird but nice. You couldn’t come to terms with how someone so good could be with you one moment and gone the next. Your gaze slid over to Steve Harrington as he sat with the boys, a sombre silence blanketing the room. With his perfect hair, kind eyes and warm smiles that brightened even your sulky mood, that beautiful bastard had managed to worm his way into your heart. God! You had hated the way your stomach became all tingly when he had clutched your hand and hovered protectively in front of you, braving the onslaught of a dozen demo-dogs. Brave and stupid nonetheless, but it was the thought that counts, right? You watched as Max sat next to you onto the floor. “Hey” you murmured. She had been taking all this surprisingly well considering she didn’t have as much time to adjust as you had. “Hey. You think this will work?” she gestured vaguely at the scattered papers on the table, ‘close gate’ scrawled across one of them. You merely shrugged, “It’s as good a plan as any. If there’s anyone who could beat that Mind Flayer, it would be El.” An awkward silence grew at the mention of Eleven. Not wanting it to continue, you asked, “You okay?” she muttered something under her breath. “What?” “I said, Eleven probably hates me.” You smiled at that and shook your head, “Nah, I doubt it.” She furrowed her brows, “How can you be so sure?” “Well, for one, I literally had to keep these idiots out of danger last year”, you gestured to where Mike, Lucas and Dustin were sitting. “Also, think about it. She was the only girl among them and then she had to leave these dorks for the longest time, only to find you amongst them. Maybe all she’s feeling is insecure, worried that you will replace her.” “But I’m not even part of the party. Mike specifically said so”, she mumbled the last part. “Oh don’t take him to heart. He’s just been miserable without El, missing her for so long. He’s been in a crappy mood with every one of us.” You gave her hand a small squeeze, “They’ll be fine, trust me. Just give them time.” Max pondered over your words before giving you a toothy grin. “Thanks Y/N! Dustin was right, you are pretty cool.” “Don't you mean pretty and cool?” you looked up to see Steve hunching over you both, obviously having heard your conversation. “Was that a lame attempt at flirting, Harrington?” you smirked, though you had to admit you were pleased on the inside. “Really? Is that the best you can do, man? I thought you could do better than this!” Dustin complained from his place on the couch. Pink dusted Steve’s cheeks as he placed the dish cloth he had been holding on his shoulder. “Hey. Hey. Hey. Don’t sass me you little shits. Let’s clean up this mess. Better than sitting in one place and just waiting for them to come back.” Everyone got up one by one, ready to clear up. Steve offered you a hand as you were about to get up and when you took it, a small smile bloomed on his face. “You are good with this,” he said, pulling you to your feet. “What do you mean?” his touch lingered on your hand as if not wanting to let go. Or was it just something you had imagined? “With Max. With the kids. You’re good with handling them, considering all this.” You found a smile tugging at your lips. Steve intertwined his fingers with yours and you found that you didn’t mind it at all. His smooth fingers filled the gaps between your calloused ones perfectly. “Yeah? You aren’t half bad, Harrington.” “Half bad?” he sounded affronted. “I’m a pretty damn good babysitter!!” Your laughter rang out through the room at that and unlike other girls (he had to admit you were unlike any other girl he had ever met), who giggled or gave high pitched squeals, this was a throaty laugh, rich in timbre and echoing from the heart. Steve found himself mesmerized by the sound. He wanted to hear more of it and above all, he wanted to be the reason for causing it. “Okay, if you two love birds are done canoodling and giggling, can we do some actual work here? Steve, need your help with somethin’.” Steve reluctantly let go of your hand, cursing under his breath about burying Dustin with some unwanted demo-dog bodies. You proceeded to clean up the shattered glass along with Max, noticing for the first time how restlessly Mike had been pacing the whole time. “Mike, would you just stop already?” Lucas tried to reason. “You weren’t there, okay Lucas? That lab is swarming with hundreds of those dogs!” Mike argued. “Demo-dogs!” Dustin corrected from the kitchen. “The chief said he’ll take care of it!” Lucas bit back, exasperated at Mike’s behaviour. Steve tried to simmer down the argument in his own misguided way, using ball game jargon. Mike was visibly irritated and voiced it out aloud, “Okay. First of all, this isn’t one of your stupid sports games and secondly, we aren’t even in the game. We are on the bench!” Steve sputtered out, “So- so my point...is...” you held your head in your hands, this was getting ridiculous. “Right, yeah, we are on the bench, so, uh, there’s nothing we can do.” He again placed the dish cloth on his shoulder. “That’s not entirely true”, you looked at Dustin, intrigued as he spoke about how the demo-dogs had a hive mind, basically connected to the Mind Flayer and if they were called back, the lab would be obstruction free for Eleven to close the gate. “Yeah, and then we all die!” Steve exclaimed. “Well, that’s one way of looking at it.” Despite yourself you chuckled, earning a grin from Dustin and a glare from Steve. ‘Sorry’ you mouthed at him. Mike started off about distracting the dogs by setting the hub of the tunnel on fire and the rest of them were pumped about the idea, completely ignoring you and Steve. “Hey.” They ignore him again. “Hey! Hey!” This had gone on long enough. You gave out a shrill, piercing whistle calling their attention to you. Silence fell in the room and all pair of eyes were trained on you, “I believe Harrington wants to say something.” “Thank you Y/N for that kindly interruption. This”, he pointed at them, “is not happening.” “But...” “No buts. We promised that we’d keep you shitheads safe, and that’s exactly what we plan on doing. We’re staying here. On the bench. And we’re waiting for the starting team to do their job. Does everybody understand? This isn’t a stupid sports game.” Steve paused. “I said does everybody understand? I need a yes.” “We should ask Y/N for her take on this. She can’t be agreeing with him” Dustin proposed, pointing at Steve as if he hadn’t said a single word. “Why are you even asking this? WE”, Steve waved a hand between you two, “are together on this!” “Oh shut it Harrington, we are asking for her opinion not your relationship status.” Steve sputtered incoherently at that. “Yeah, Y/N gets a say. She’s senior sitter, her vote carries more power than your’s.” Mike spoke up. You had been listening to this exchange with mounting annoyance. “Hey shitheads, stop talking about me as if I’m not even here. And that includes you as well Harrington!” you pointed at him with a ticked off expression on your face. You continued, “They aren’t completely wrong...” “Please don’t be actually considering this...” Steve begged. “All I’m saying...” the sounds of an engine revving loudly interrupted you. Max scrambled to the window, fear evident on her face. “It’s my brother. He can’t know I’m here. He’ll kill me. He’ll kill us.” She looked at you and Steve, just as you both recognised the person to whom the car belonged to. Steve exclaimed, “You are Billy Hargrove’s sister?!” she nodded. You frowned as you motioned to follow him outside. “Y/N stay here.” “If you think I’ll let you go suicide squad again...” “They’ll need someone tough if things go wrong”, he jerked his heads towards the kids.

That was your first mistake. Letting him go out there alone to face that savage Neanderthal named Billy fucking Hargrove. You just wished that King Steve wouldn’t be dethroned by the new Keg King in a fist fight as well. You noticed too late that the kids were crowding in the window when they were supposed to hide. Suddenly they ducked. “Did he see us?” Dustin asked. You closed your eyes and took in a deep breath. This was turning into one hell of a night. You shuffled them into the kitchen and prepared yourself for what was about to come. The door was kicked open with force, as Billy strutted into the room. “Well, well, well. Y/N L/N and Lucas Sinclair, what a surprise.” He looked at you and then at Lucas behind you with a manic glint in his eyes.

“Hargrove, you need to leave this house. Now.” He merely laughed. “Step aside L/N this doesn’t concern you.” He merely laughed. “Step aside L/N this doesn’t concern you.” “Like hell it doesn’t. You stay away from my kids, you understand?” You kept a hand on your machete, prepared for the worst case scenario. He snorted, “Did you and Harrington decide to take the next step and start adopting kids? If so, leave that bitch alone. ‘Cause I ain’t leaving this house without my sister.” “And I ain’t leaving Max with an asshole of a brother.” That was your second mistake of the night. Your sass was going to get you killed one day. Well, who cares, Hargrove had it coming anyway. He laughed out loud as if you had cracked a really funny joke but the mirth didn’t reach his crazed eyes. With a shout he rushed towards you. You whipped out the machete and hit his head with its handle in a bid to throw him off course. The leather grip and your force dealt a sizeable welt to the side of his head. He grunted with the blow but took you down nonetheless. The machete slid out of your grip and fell too far from your reach. Well, shit. The kids were shouting out loudly, telling him to leave you alone but all you could stare at were the eyes of Billy Hargrove as he grabbed your head and struck it against the floor. The pain thundered through your skull, dark spots danced across your vision and all sound turned into white noise. He didn’t give you a moment’s respite, grabbing you by the throat. You were hoisted momentarily in the air before being pushed against the wall. A groan escaped your lips when he choked you, “You should learn to keep that smart mouth of yours closed Y/N, never know who could rip it off.” You crumpled to the floor as he let you go and approached Lucas, slamming him into a wall cabinet with threats of dire consequences on his lips. Had it been somebody else they would have shit their pants. Not Lucas Sinclair. On being threatened, he kneed Billy in the groin. Despite being dazed and disoriented, you were a proud parent. “You are so dead”, the mullet wearing bastard threatened him again before Steve interrupted his tirade, “No. You are.” You were thankful for that as he seemed to have an upper hand in beating Billy out of the house. That was until you saw Steve being clobbered on the head with a plate and subsequently pulverised to a bloody pulp. The white noise was slowly turning into a dull buzz as you stumbled to your feet and approached the pair. “Hey asshole, stay away from my guy!” Billy looked up in time to see your fist rushing to meet his face. Muttering profanities he grabbed you again and returned the favour. You could have dodged that punch, but all you did was smile at the pain, feeling the bruise already blossoming on your jaw. Confused at your reactions, he cursed as the needle pricked his neck. Max had needed a distraction to plunge the syringe, so you gave her one. You left her to threaten Billy with dire consequences, with liberal use of Steve’s bat of course. You crawled towards him, watching King Steve in all his glory, knocked out cold with a bloodied face. God, he had had the daylights punched out of him. Your head pounded and you had a feeling that you were no better than him, though minus a split lip and a slowly blackening eye. You watched Billy promise Max to leave all of you alone and then slump into unconsciousness. They all looked at you as you chuckled, wondering if you had become deranged from his hits. “Did he knock something loose in your head?” Mike wondered out loud. “Nah, I was just thinking that I trained you kids well.” They all grinned at that. You managed to scrap together a few colourful band aids and carefully placed them on Steve’s injuries. That would have to do for the mean time.

Once you reached Billy’s car, you and Dustin somehow squashed Steve on the backseat. You were overcome by a wave of nausea and swayed on your feet. Most likely a concussion, you mused. “Max can you drive? If I attempt to do that in my state, I’ll probably ram it into a ditch.” That was how you found yourselves racing towards the hole Hopper had dug, Max swerving and accelerating at dangerous speeds.

Just as you started thinking that maybe this had been a bad idea, Steve groggily woke up. “Y/N?” he asked Dustin. “I’m here Steve.” He looked at you, before nuzzling into your side. “You look nice.” He felt your chuckle vibrate through his side, if he moved any further, he would be practically in your lap. “Speak for yourself Harrington.” A moment of silence passed before he asked, “Wait did you just call me Steve?” You turned your head to look out of the window, your cheeks flaming red. “What? No! I think you’re still too dazed to think straight.” “Wait, if you are sitting here. Then who’s driving?” His gaze shifted to Max and a chant of ‘Oh my god! Oh my god! Oh my god!’ started. Frankly you don’t really know how you reached where you needed to be. Suffice to say, it involved a lot of shouting, a lot of cursing, one hyperventilating Steve and a smashed mail box. By the end of the ride, you and Steve were clutching each other for dear life.

“I told you, zoomer.” Max said proudly, once you rushed out of the car never more grateful for solid ground. “Guys? Hey guys?” Steve shouted at the kids as they started taking out bandanas and goggles from the boot, ‘protection’ you had insisted would be required if you were to go through with this. You mumbled your thanks to Dustin as he handed you your pair. “Y/N you should be siding with me on this! We aren’t going down that hole! This ends now!” You stared at the ground for a moment before saying, “They are right, you know. I can’t sit there waiting for others to do things knowing I could have done something to help El and Hopper out. And anything goes, even crawling into a slime infested Upside Down tunnel trying to lure flesh eating demo-dogs if that means we can shut this shit down for good.” “You really have a way with words, you know?” Dustin said while giving Steve his protective gear, “Steve, you are upset. I get it. But the bottom line is a party member requires assistance, and it is our duty to provide that assistance. Now I know you promised Nance that you would keep us safe. So keep us safe.” He handed him his bat and your machete was thrust into your hands. Steve sighed and took his trusty bat after you gave him a nod. Getting down the hole hadn’t been difficult. Once you landed, the sight that greeted you was hardly scenic. The floating dust particles, the slime lathered pulsing tunnel and the chilly air gave you eerie vibes. It seemed like a piece of hell had been recreated in Hawkins. “Holy shit”, Steve exclaimed. “Pretty cosy, right?” you replied sardonically as the party looked around. “Yeah. I’m pretty sure it’s this way.” Mike shined the torch on the crude map of the tunnels you had drawn. You were glad that Steve stopped Mike and took the lead; these little shits could go running blindly into danger and not even know it. Bringing up the back, you swung the machete in your hand hoping that the demo-dogs would at least let you reach the hub and not make any surprise appearances. Getting there had been fairly incident free if you overlooked a minor hiccup (Dustin being spewed with otherworldly vomit could be considered that, in the grand scheme of things) and before you knew it, you were dousing the hub with all the inflammable liquid you could get your hands on from the Byers’ household. With everyone calling out that they were ready, Steve took out the lighter and flung it into the darkness whilst muttering, “I’m in such deep shit.” For the rest of your life, you would remember how the small flame sailed through the air, almost in slow motion, before landing on the floor and lighting up the room like a bonfire taking to dry wood. Nothing could be more horrifyingly beautiful than an inferno of flames engulfing the slimy tendrils that started screeching on being burnt. “Go, go, go, go, go”, Steve yelled snapping you out of your daze when he pulled you together with him. You quickly ran ahead of the boys, taking the machete out of its place at your waist. Was this how Vikings felt when they launched surprise attacks on enemies? Well, they probably didn’t have someone like Steve Harrington shouting, ‘oh my god! Oh my god! Oh my god!’ throughout the escape but you wouldn’t have liked it any other way. The euphoria of having burnt an evil shadow monster’s lair pumped through your veins, the frigid air rushing past your party as you ran through the winding tunnels.

That was until Mike’s cries for help brought you to a screeching halt. You changed directions, running back to see him being dragged by the vines. Lucas, Dustin and Max reached him first and tried to pull him out of the vine’s clutches. “Stand back!” Steve swung the bat at it once, twice. You delivered the third blow, cutting it clean from his foot as the shrieking critter gave a few dying wails before flopping lifelessly. You were hoping that that would be the end of your problems. You should have known better. A hungry growl diverted your attention from checking if Mike was hurt and the hair on the back of your arms stood up. A demo-dog stood in front of you in all its slimy, many toothed glory. You made a move to go full Viking on it just as Dustin called out, “Dart?” This was the thing that had been mistaken for a pet?? You lowered the machete as Steve tried to pull him back but he just shushed you guys. You tried to call him back, “Trust me on this!” he replied and you lapsed into silence. Your eyebrows rose up in disbelief as Dustin talked with the creature as if it were a beloved dog returning to its master. You were fairly sure your brows had disappeared into your hairline by the time he had managed to calm the demo-dog with nougat bars and waved you guys to move forward. This night was breaking all previous charts of trippy events but stranger things had been known to happen. You swiftly moved on ahead but a loud rumble shook the ground, tripping you and the others. “What was that?” Max asked. “They are coming. Run. RUN!” Mike shouted from the rear. You all ran like your lives depended upon it as growls echoed deeply from the tunnels, sounding closer and closer as you approached the rope. “There! Let’s go. Go. Go. Go.” Steve steadied the dangling rope while you hoisted Max up and urged them to climb up ahead one by one. You were about to follow Dustin as he was helped up by Lucas and Mike when the growls echoed too closely for your comfort. “Shit” you muttered. Hordes of demo-dogs rounded the corner and filled the tunnel, piling over one another in their haste to reach you. It was too late, you could never make it out in time. This was the end, this was how you would die. At least you both had got all the kids out safely. Your fist gripped the machete tightly, readying it for one last swing. Steve looked at you and gave a solemn nod. You held his gaze and a silent understanding passed between you. Whatever may happen, you would go down fighting. You saw the distance between them and you diminishing at an alarming rate. Running at you at full throttle, closing in on you, faster and faster.... And just continuing on as if you were invisible. Completely ignoring your presence, they roughly brushed past you, almost knocking you off balance. Did they not see that there were two prime steaks standing smack dab in their midst? Steve pulled you in his arms as the tide of demo-dogs made its way around you, disappearing around the corner heading god knew where. As you clutched onto him for dear life, your mind finally registered that you had nearly died just then. You stared at him, not comprehending that the ordeal was at long last over. He gazed right back, holding on equally tightly. As if letting you go would make the monsters come back. As if being nearly run down by literal hell hounds had finally opened his eyes and he was seeing you for the first time. You gave a hysterical laugh and flung yourself into Steve as he buried his head in the crook of your neck, clutching your waist even more tightly than before. You both stayed like that for what seemed like eternity before being interrupted by Dustin. “Guys? Guys, I know it’s literally the end of the world but can you have your lovey-dovey moment after you are safe and out of that hell hole?” You sprang apart at that and let go of each other. Blushing the shade of ripe tomatoes, you climbed up the rope. Once you reached above ground, you slipped your hand into Steve’s, took off the bandana & goggles and gave him a dazzling smile. The headlights burnt bright like two miniature suns, signalling that El had managed to close the gate. He looked at you then, with the fading light reflecting off your sweat and grime stained face. You looked as bone tired as he felt, hair greasy and all over the place. There was a purplish bruise on your jaw that was darkening with every passing minute (Hargrove was going to be so dead once he was done with him). Nobody had looked more beautiful in his eyes. In that moment, Steve Harrington thought that if the end of the world meant you would look at him with such adoring eyes, may be facing ravaging demo-dogs and enduring near death experiences wasn’t that bad of a deal after all.  

A/N: My first Steve Harrington imagine! Not exactly sure how this turned out. Please excuse any typos that may have crept in. I love Mom Steve, if you didn't notice. I react to feedback the way Dart acts with Nougat. ❤ ~mystical reading nerd.

[clexagiraffesandbrittana319]

Dancer Preview

About six months ago I teased a Prompt I was REALLY excited about. WELL I would like to share the FIRST chapter of that with you! It will be posted to Ao3 soon-ish. Until then... this is what I’m calling Dancer (for now.) Hope you enjoy.

Clarke Griffin sat in her Painting between Realism and Abstract Class, trying her best to keep her eyes opened. It was ten in the morning and she, Raven and Harper had been out till nearly three AM. It was the last week of school before spring break so parties were already happening. Nia, her professor whom was one of those just call me by my first name types, was going over their final projects.

“Any questions?” She asked.

Harper raised her hand.

“Harper?”

“So any form of movement?” Harper asked.

“Yes, but just one and only one model” Nia nodded.

“But multiple paintings?” Harper clarified.

“At least three, no more than five” Nia answered.

“Got it… dibs on Raven,” She leaned over and whispered to Clarke.

“What? No fair!”  Clarke huffed, she had been banking on going with Raven to her MMA class and using her as her model.

“I already asked her anyways, you can ask Octavia” Harper said.

“She’s my best friend!” Clarke wined.

“You like O” Harper said “she does jiu jitsu as well as MMA, it will be cool.”

“Why don’t you do O?” Harper asked.

“Because” was all Harper would say.

“Fine” Clarke sighed.

“Well, then I am done here. You can either stay and sketch or go” Nia said, “Have a great vacation I will see you in two weeks.”

“Two weeks!” Harper said, “I’m so excited.”

“Me too” Clarke said. “Though I still have one more class today… and two tomorrow.”

“I don’t think you do today, Jaha isn’t here anymore.” Harper said as they walked out of the room.

“No?” Clarke asked.

“Nope, big sign on the door… he left after his intro to drawing class, the advance classes are cancelled.”

“Thank god I need a nap, can I go back to Ludlow with you?”

“I’m going to go to the library” Harper said.

“Can I go back there and nap?” Clarke asked. “I don’t want to go all the way back uptown.”

“Yeah no problem, I will be back in a few hours.”

“Sweet, wake me when you get there?” Clarke smiled sweetly.

“Kay, see you.” Harper said.

Ludlow was one of the on campus housing buildings and Harper had a single. Clarke often hung out there when she had time in between classes or when Raven was gone for the night.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket.

Raven: Are we going to Grounder tonight?

Grounder was a bar that was near her and Raven’s apartment, they often hung out there.

Raven: 2 for 1 cause it’s ladies night!

Clarke: Sounds good to me Im currently getting ready to nap at Harpers… by the way… why did you tell her you would be her subject for our painting final?!?! IM YOUR best friend Rae!

Raven: She asked me, I didn’t know it was something you had to do too. I can tell her no…

Clarke: No it’s fine. I will just see if Octavia will do it…

Raven: I’m sure she will…

Clarke: I think she will too. But… im just more comfortable with you. Yeah she’s one of my good friends now but I was her friend threw you first… I don’t want it to be weird.

Raven: You’re not proposing, just asking if you can paint her.

Raven: … Ohhhhh I see it now, that does sound a little creepy.

Raven: Can I paint you like one of my French girls Octavia? Hahahaha.

Clarke: Going to sleep now. Bye ass.

Raven: When you coming home?

Clarke: I will be home when you get home.

Raven: I will be home at 2:15 just so you know.

Clarke: Check. goodnight… I love you.

Raven: Yeah yeah…

Raven: I love you too Whore 

Clarke walked into Grounder that night, she had gotten there a little after Raven and Harper.

“Hey” Clarke said walking to the booth where her friends were.

“Lots of people here tonight” Raven said.

“Yeah” Harper said. “Newbies it looks like.”

“Spring break I think” Clarke said, “Bringing a lot of people in…”

“Hey people” Octavia said walking over with her arm in a sling.

“What did you do?” Raven asked her.

“Oh Lincoln threw me against a wall…” the tall dark haired girl said as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

“Ya know, you really shouldn’t justify relationship abuse” Raven shook her head with a laugh.

“Shut up” Octavia said. “We were in the gym sparring and he flipped me and I twisted and landed against the wall, it’s my Collarbone.”

“Broken?” Clarke asked.

“Yep” Octavia nodded.

“Jesus and you’re here?” Harper laughed.

“It doesn’t hurt that bad” Octavia shook her head brushing it off.

“How long are you out of the ring?” Raven asked.

“Like a month or so, probably. Maybe more…” Octavia shrugged, “Fucking pisses me off so much.”

“Well maybe you can’t paint her like one of your French girls” Raven said to Clarke.

Harper laughed so hard she almost spit her drink out.

“What?” Octavia asked.

“It’s for a final project; we have to paint movement in some form. Harper stole Raven so I was going to ask you.” Clarke explained.

“I’m sorry” Octavia said. “I’m sure Lincoln or Indra would be down, oh or Lexa do you know Lex?”

Clarke shook her head.

“Yeah she’s my best friend, ballerina and shit too, that could be cool to paint, right?” Octavia said.

“Yeah cool and not at all weird to ask a complete stranger to be your model” Clarke laughed.

“Lexa is gorgeous” Raven said, “You should totally paint her.”

“You know her?” Clarke asked.

“Yeah she takes jiu jitsu with us sometimes” Raven sipped her drink.

“A ballerina takes jiu jitsu?” Harper asked.

“Yeah, it’s good for her coordination and shit” Octavia said. “She’s coming tomorrow you should come, I will introduce you.”

“Okay, sounds good” Clarke said.

Lexa just finished her last ballet class of the day, “Great class guys” Dianna said as Lexa walked over to her stuff and grabbed her water bottle.

“What are you doing tonight?” Becca asked taking a drink of her water as well.

“Nothing, going home showering and going to bed.”

“I hear it's ladies night at Grounder, wanna go?”

“No, I have class at--”

“Nine AM, I know I am in all the same classes you know” Becca smiled. “You could stand to have a little fun Lexa.”

“I do have fun” Lexa said. “Tomorrow I go to jiu jitsu.”

Becca just shook her head. Lexa had been a principal dancer at ABT for four years now and took it very seriously.

“You know, as long as I have been here I don’t think I have ever seen you let loose, not even a little” Becca said. “You don’t even take the contemporary class.”

“I don’t see the need for it” Lexa shrugged.

“It’s fun and another form of dance, just because it isn’t required or as disciplined as ballet” Becca said. “Let that hair down, Alexandria.”

Lexa just smiled, “I will see you in class tomorrow.”

She grabbed her dance bag and headed out the door. She couldn’t help it, it’s not that she didn’t want to make friends it was just… harder for her. She had always attributed it to the way she was raised, or wasn’t for the first part of her life. She grew up in a group home in San Francisco California until she was fourteen, that’s when her older sister Anya turned eighteen and was able to take guardianship of her. Anya and ballet were all she ever had; the friends part was harder for her, though she had a few close friends now that she lived in New York. Her best friend was Octavia Blake, whom she met through a jiu jitsu class she happened upon three years ago. Another instructor there named Indra, who was a few years older than she was, was also her friend, and now Octavia’s friend Raven, whom she liked pretty well so her circle was expanding. Since Costia though she just didn’t do much… going out.

“Hello” She said walking into her and Anya’s loft.

“Hi” Anya said, “How was dance?”

“Good, I took seven classes today.”

“Good lord Lexa, Why?” Anya laughed.

“I gotta keep in shape” Lexa shrugged. “We don’t have any performances we are working on right now, so we just take class all day... Anyhow, how was your day?”

“Good, I had court for an eight year old little girl who is getting placed permanently this week.” Anya told her.

“Wonderful” Lexa said opening the fridge.

“I made your dinner it’s in the oven keeping warm” Anya told her.

Lexa pulled the plate out of the oven, and removed the foil to see a piece of salmon, green beans and roasted sweet potatoes.

“Thank you,” Lexa said sitting down on the bar stool.

“Your welcome” Anya said.

Lexa’s phone beeped from her dance bag, “Do you want me to grab that for you?” Anya asked.

“If you don’t mind” Lexa nodded taking a bite of food.

Anya handed her the phone a moment later and she checked the message, it was from Octavia.

Octavia: Hey, my friend Clarke is in art school and she has to do her final project on Art and Movement or whatever… She was going to ask me but I broke my collarbone and am out for a month or so. I told her she should ask you since you do ballet and shit can I give her your number?

Lexa: Ballet and shit… Nice.

Lexa: What does she have to do, just draw me?

Octavia: Yeah, I think paint you dancing…

“That’s weird” Lexa said aloud.

“What is?” Anya asked.

“It was Octavia. Apparently a friend of hers has to do a final for Art School on movement and since O broke her collarbone she suggested she paint me.”

“That sounds pretty cool actually, to have someone paint you dancing,” Anya said.

“You don’t think it is… weird, I don’t know her” Lexa shrugged.

“I think you need to meet new people, Lex.”

Lexa thought about it for a moment then texted Octavia back.

Lexa: Sure you can give her my number, yeah.

Clarke crawled into bed around eleven thirty that night, she had decided not to stay out too late since the night before they had closed down the bar and she was exhausted. She put her phone on her nightstand and plugged it in, when she remembered Octavia had given her the number of that girl… Lexa. She grabbed her phone and found the number and sent her a text.

Clarke: Hi, this is Clarke Griffin. Octavia gave me your number.

She felt like she should have said more but didn’t know what to say, this way at least the girl had her info as well. She put her phone down and rolled over to close her eyes when her phone beeped.

Lexa: Hi Clarke, I am Lexa. It’s nice to… meet you … I guess… kinda.

Clarke: It’s nice to kinda meet you too. :) I hope I didn’t wake you…

Lexa: Nope, I was just stretching before bed.

Stretching, this girl was dedicated Clarke thought.

Clarke: Always on ballerina mode?

Lexa: I guess you could say that.

Clarke: How long have you been dancing?

She didn’t know why she kept the conversation going, but it felt… natural.

Lexa: Since I was eight, I have been with ABT for four years now.

Clarke: Wow… Octavia said you were a ballerina but I didn’t realize you were like a real ballerina and shit… ABT that’s a major company.

Lexa: Yes, yes it is. Ballet is kind of my job :)

Clarke: Well Im sure you’re amazing then, if you don’t have time for this I completely understand…

Lexa: I think I will, what all will it entail?

Clarke: I need to paint you dancing. So I would need to watch you dance… come to classes if possible… maybe even do some one on one things so I can sketch a bunch of stuff out pre-paint.

Lexa: That sounds doable.

Clarke: Great… do you want to meet for coffee tomorrow sometime to talk?

Lexa: I could do coffee, when are you free. I have a window between two and four PM, and then am available after seven.

Clarke: I have class till 1:30. so I could do 2… But I could also do later tomorrow night… Whatever you prefer.

Lexa: I’m done with jiu jitsu at seven.

Clarke: I can meet you there after and we can head to coffee or even dinner at that point? Raven is going to be there tomorrow… I think… so I’ll know where I’m going.

Lexa: You know Raven?

Clarke: Yes, She’s my best friend… since we were nine. You know Rae?

She knew she did, why did she ask that?

Lexa: Just threw Octavia and jiu jitsu, yes.

Clarke: Ohhhhh that makes sense.

Lexa: Okay, so I will see you tomorrow then.

Clarke: Sounds good.

Lexa: Okay well I should get to bed, I have ballet at nine tomorrow morning.

Clarke: Yeah… I have class at eight. See you tomorrow Lexa.

Lexa: Goodnight Clarke.

Lexa woke the next morning around six and went into the kitchen, Anya was up drinking a cup of coffee already, “Morning.”

“Morning” Lexa smiled.

“Ballet early?” Anya asked.

“Nine is class, but I am going to get there early and dance,” Lexa told her.

“Okay” Anya said.

“I won’t be home for dinner tonight” Lexa said pouring water into the tea kettle.

Anya just looked at her to continue.

“After jiu jitsu tonight I’m going to go to dinner with Clarke” Lexa said her name as if they had been friends always.

“Clarke?” Anya asked.

“Octavia’s friend, the art student.”

“You’re going to dinner?” Anya asked, “I thought she was going to paint you dancing…”

“She is” Lexa nodded, “But she asked if I wanted to go to coffee or dinner to talk about things.”

“When did you talk to her?”

“Last night, we texted before bed” Lexa told her.

“You texted her?” Anya asked with a look.

“Yes” Lexa nodded putting a slice of bread in the toaster. “What’s with you why are you acting all weird?”

“I’m not… I’m just well... glad.” Anya said.

“That I texted her, or that I am going to dinner with her?” Lexa asked.

“Both” Anya smiled, noting that Lexa was looking in the fridge. “I ate the half of avocado that was in there.”

Lexa shut the refrigerator and glared at her.

“Relax there is a new one” Anya pointed to the hanging fruit basket.

“Thank you” Lexa said walking over to the basket and rising up on her tiptoes to get it.

“Of course you had to relevé to get it” Anya laughed.

“I almost piqued to it, but ya know” Lexa said with a smirk.

“Too much for six am?”

“Maybe slightly” she shrugged.

“I’m surprised you aren’t in your leotard and tights already” Anya sipped her coffee.

“Too early” Lexa said mashing up the avocado and putting it on her toast. “I don’t want to get them all avocado-ey”

“I don’t think that’s a word dear sister” Anya laughed.

“Oh well” Lexa shrugged, “Do you know if my black leo is clean?”

“That narrows your question down to about three hundred leotards, Alexandria” Anya rolled her eyes.

“The new strappy one... I put it in the laundry room yesterday and you said ‘I will wash that for you’.”

“Then yes, it’s in the clean laundry basket at the foot of your bed” Anya said.

“You are the best!” Lexa said kissing her sisters cheek before she Chaîné turned to get a glass from the cupboard.

“I’m aware of that fact” Anya said. “I gotta shower and then get to the office; I will see you tonight then.”

“Yeah, I don’t know what time but not late though I am sure.”

“Have a good time Lexa, be a normal twenty four year old for once instead of a prima ballerina.”

Lexa just scoffed as Anya went up the stairs.

“WHY?” Raven yelled Clarke’s alarm went off.

“Because unlike you, I have classes today” Clarke said sitting up wiping the sleep from her eyes.

“Turn it off and lay back down and snuggle me back to sleep!” Raven wined.

Clarke wasn’t sure when Raven ended up in her bed, but she wasn’t surprised waking up beside her. Raven often ended up in her bed.

“Rae, I have to go to class!” Clarke said firmly, as she snuggled back in next to her.

“What are we doing tonight?” Raven asked yawning.

“I’m going to dinner with Lexa,” Clarke said.

“You are?” Raven asked.

“Yes, I texted her last night and we talked a little. We decided to go to dinner tonight after she’s done with jiu jitsu and talk more.”

“You like her!” Raven said.

“I don’t know her Raven, so I can hardly like her” Clarke laughed.

“Well you will, she is gorgeous and nice, she’s quiet though… very serious.”

“That doesn’t sound like my type at all” Clarke shook her head.

“You just wait and see” Raven smiled with her eyes closed.

Clarke kissed her forehead, “Okay crazy, we’ll see. But I gotta get up and get ready now.”

“Booo” Raven said.

“If you wanted a snuggle buddy you should’ve brought O back, you know I have class” Clarke said.

“She went to Lincoln’s” Raven mumbled.

“Well then we need to get you a snuggle buddy” Clarke said.

“I have you” Raven said.

“Well I have to go, if you’re still in bed in three hours then I will snuggle you more.”

“I will be” Raven informed her.

Clarke laughed, “Of course you will be.”

“Come get in bed with me when you get home?” Raven asked.

“Yes, love… Will do, Goodbye I love you.”

“Love you, butt head” Raven mumbled from underneath her blankets.

“Balancé, balance, pique…through, double pirouette, land then triple. You’re going to add that onto the combination we just did, have it?” Hannah asked the class.

Lexa loved barre and floor, it was her favorite class.

“Good” Hannah said, “group A on the floor first.” The music started and Hannah counted, “And five, six, seven, eight.”

Lexa absolutely loved everything about ballet, from the discipline down to the smallest movement, she felt free and control all at the same time when she danced.

“Becca, turn out!” Hannah hollered as they danced. “Shoulders down Bree.” “Very nice Lexa!”

The combination came to an end and Lexa walked off the floor as the other group walked onto it. She grabbed her water bottle off the ground by the bar taking a sip. Becca was leaned with her back against the ballet bar, and looked over to Lexa. “Want to go to TonDC tonight?”

“Can’t” Lexa whispered, not taking her eyes off the other girls. She wasn’t much for talking while in class and Becca knew that, but she didn’t care.  

“Why? Come on Lexa, you never do anything fun…”

“I told you I have jiu jitsu tonight” She said quietly. “Plus after I’m going out to dinner with… a friend.”

Sure Clarke wasn’t really a friend yet, but she more than likely would be, Lexa thought.

“Okay, well we need to make plans for this weekend” Becca said.

“I’ll see what I can do” Lexa nodded and then glanced to the wall to check the clock for the time. That’s when she saw her, standing there at the viewing window. Her stomach dropped, Costia. She knew she would have to see her after the breakup, whenever Costia came back to the city, but it always took her by surprise.

“Costia” Hannah smiled when she turned around and saw her, “Come in here.”

Great.

“How are you?” Hannah asked the girl.

“I’m well” Costia smiled.

“Great, are you here for the spring preview week?”

“Yes” She nodded. “Then back to Europe.”

Costia was selected as one of the principal dancers to go to Europe for four years, to preform and study there. It was a new program they were offering at ABT, and one of the main reasons their relationship had ended… Well That and the fact that Costia decided it would be fun to sleep with Maddie, another Lead at ABT, before they left.

“Come take class?” Hannah asked.

“I don’t have shoes or anything, but I’d love to watch…” Costia said eyeing Lexa whom was trying her best to avoid any sort of eye contact.

“That would be great, stay, sit.” Hannah said.

“Hey” Clarke said as she slid back into bed with Raven, who just as she promised, was in bed still when she got home.

“Hi” Raven rolled over and brushed the dark hair out of her face, so she could see Clarke.

“Today sucked” Clarke sighed.

“Oh no, why?”

“I will give you three guesses, and you more than likely won’t need the last two…”

“Why is he such a douchebag? What happened?” Raven sighed.

“He asked if he could come over here tonight…” Clarke rolled her eyes.

“The fuck… Why?!” Raven asked.

“Because he’s Finn… I mean really there is no other explanation necessary. I told him I wouldn’t be home, and then he said… well Rae will be right?”

“Um, yeah… no.” Raven scoffed. “Why did either of us sleep with him, ever?”

“I don’t know, and the fact that he got away with sleeping with the both of us for three weeks really still pisses me off” Clarke nearly growled.

“Right, he’s so proud of himself for it too, like he slept with best friends and we didn’t put it together for nearly a month!” Raven said.

Clarke snuggled into her best friends side and sighed. “So if he comes around here tonight while I’m gone, don’t let him in.”

“Eeww never,” Raven said “and I won’t be here.”

“Where are you going?”

To TonDC, Harper Octavia and I are going… You should meet us after you go to dinner with Lexa.”

“Maybe I will, I can see if she wants to come as well…”

Raven laughed, “Lexa won’t come to Ton!”

“Why?” Clarke asked.

“Because she’s Lexa, she doesn’t do things like that. She’s all ballet, seriously… jiu jitsu is her fun.”

“Well, that sounds like a challenge” Clarke said with an eyebrow wiggle.

“Clarke Abigail Griffin” Raven said. “I don’t think you can crack this one…”

“We’ll see” Clarke said.

Lexa had just gotten done with her class at two and booked it out of the studio while Hannah was talking to Costia, because the last thing she wanted to do was to have to stop and make small talk with her ex.

She got to her car and checked her phone, pleasantly surprised to see she had a few texts from Clarke.

Clarke: Hi! looking forward to meeting you tonight. Raven and O both tell me great things… Where do you want to go for dinner?

And another

Clarke: I’m going to just come to class with Rae and hang out there, so I will see you at 5:30.

She smiled, unsure of why this stranger was causing her to smile, but shrugged it off and texted her back.

Lexa: I’m looking forward to it as well, Clarke. I’m game for pretty much anything for dinner. What do you feel like?

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

“She texted me back” Clarke said. Her and Raven we’re still curled up in bed, watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer on Netflix.

“Why are you so excited?” Raven asked. “You don’t even know this girl, or what she looks like?”

“Why does it have to be about looks, can’t I just be excited to make a new friend?”

“Why do you need new friends? I’m all you’ll ever need, Clarke” Raven said.

Clarke laughed, then checked her text and replied.

Clarke: What’s your favorite kind of food?

“Why is it always Cordy who is getting chased by the monsters? She’s always in the wrong place at the wrong time.” Raven said.

“It’s Cordelia, what do you expect? And I think that Zander has had it pretty bad too, he always falls for these women who turn out to be insects or something supernatural” Clarke said. “Then you have the whole Anya thing…”

Raven laughed, “You’re right.”

Lexa: Mexican, but not from here. West coast Mexican food.

“She’s from the west coast?” Clarke looked to raven excited.

“Yeah… San Fran I think.” Raven said.

Clarke: Oh god, I know just what you mean… worst part of leaving southern Cali was giving up the Mexican food…

Lexa: You’re from the west coast too? that’s crazy.

Clarke: Yes! I don’t miss it too much, just the beach and mexican food…  

Lexa: Agree. What’s your favorite thing to eat over here?

Clarke: Either… Pizza or… Chinese.

Lexa: Lets do pizza?

Clarke: Sounds great. You wanna go to Tipsy Tomato?

Lexa: never been there, but sounds great.

Clarke: We have to then... it’s one of my favorites.

Lexa: That works for me. I will see you in a little bit then. Are you taking class?

Clarke: UM No!!!! Just watching.

Lexa: Why not? Scared? ;)

Clarke: I have ZERO coordination… believe me.

“Seriously, Cordelia… don’t go in there!!!!!” Raven yelled at the Tv.

Clarke laughed, “You’ve seen this episode at least ten times, you know she does!”

Lexa: Okay, I just got done with Ballet and have time to kill before class.

Clarke: Are you there already?

Lexa: No, I’m going to try and sneak back into the studio and dance some more. But there is someone I really don’t want to run into.

Clarke: Who?

Lexa: My ex-girlfriend.

“Is Lexa a lesbian or bisexual?” She looked to Raven.

Raven shrugged, “I’m pretty sure she’s a lesbian, does it matter?”

“Not one bit, just curious” Clarke shook her head.

“SERIOUSLY CORDY!!!! NO!!” Raven shook her head.  

Clarke: Eeww, exes are the worst.

Lexa: Agreed.

Clarke: Rae and I are watching Buffy in bed, being completely lazy. So props to you if you go dance.

Lexa: I don’t know if I will to be honest.

Lexa: I’ve never seen Buffy.

Clarke: WHAT? We MUST fix that! And I’m sorry… I could tell you wanted to dance…  How long were you and this girl together?

Lexa: two years, and it’s okay. I have already danced for six hours today.

Lexa: And okay, I’m up for watching it.

Clarke: SIX HOURS, good lord Lexa… And two years is a good chunk of time. When did you break up?

Lexa: a year ago, I’ve totally moved on. I just don’t want to see her.

Clarke: That’s understandable…... I just saw my ex today. He’s an ass.

Lexa: I’m sorry.

Clarke: It’s okay. But he really is the worst… its a long story, I will tell you in person sometime if you ever want to know… lets stop talking about our exs for now though.

Lexa: Gladly, what would you like to talk about Clarke?

Clarke and Lexa ended up texting for over an hour. Lexa never went back into the studio partly because she was afraid of running into Costia, also because she was really enjoying texting with Clarke. She was so easy to talk to, though she didn’t know why, she didn’t question it.

Clarke: Are you here?

Lexa: Almost, are you there already?

Clarke: Yeah we just got here… Octavia and Rae are being mean and said they weren’t going to point you out to me... and I had to guess who you were.

Lexa: I’ll come say hi when I get there, I promise.

Clarke: :) I have really enjoyed texting you today.

Clarke: I’m looking forward to hanging out w/you tonite

Lexa: Same. I’m pulling in.

Clarke: Okay.

Clarke had no idea why she was so nervous, she and Lexa had texted for over an hour about tons of things, she already felt like she knew this girl.

“She’s here” She said to Raven. “She just pulled up.”

“Are you texting her?” Octavia asked.

“They have been texting alllll afternoon” Raven told Octavia.

“I seriously think you two would be amazing together” Octavia said. “Lexa needs someone like you, Clarke.”

Clarke blushed slightly, and rolled her eyes. “Guys we’re just meeting… slow down.”

Octavia looked to the door and Clarke looked to see one of the most gorgeous women she had ever seen walking in the door. She was tall and Clarke thought she looked like a Greek goddess, her chestnut curls were pulled up into a ponytail, and she was wearing a pair of charcoal grey yoga pants that sat low at her hip bones, and stopped before her ankles. On top she wore a black tank top with a sports bra on underneath it that didn’t make it all the way down to the top of her pants, so she could see a perfect amount of skin. Clarke couldn’t take her eyes off her perfect shoulders and neck. She stood tall and it was noticeable she was a ballerina from the way she held herself even as she walked.

“Hi” Lexa said walking right up to her, pulling her out of her mini-trance. “Clarke?”

“Hey” Clarke nodded. “Lexa?”

Lexa smiled slightly and Clarke couldn’t not stare into her perfectly green eyes, but shook herself out of it, and hugged the slightly taller girl standing in front of her.

“Nice to meet you in person” She said.

“You also” Lexa said letting her hands wrap around the blonde. Normally she would find this extremely awkward as she wasn’t a touchy feely person, but for some reason with the gorgeous blonde in her arms, it felt natural. “Hi” She said to Octavia once she had let go of Clarke.

“Hey” Octavia said giving her the regular side hug she normally did.

“I didn’t think you’d be here” Lexa gestured to her arm.

“I can’t do much I’m going to hang with Clarke, and watch.”

“Watch Lincoln” Raven clarified.

“Hi Raven” Lexa said to the smaller brunette.

“Hey Lexa” Raven smirked at her, as if to say I know what you’ve been doing all day.

“How was dance?” Octavia asked Lexa.

“Great, well… for the most part” Lexa looked to Clarke.

“Did you ever see her again?” Clarke asked.

“No” Lexa said, “Thank god.”

“Right? I get that,” Clarke smiled.

“Wait what?” Octavia asked.  

“Costia, I’ll fill you in later” Lexa said.

“You’d better!” Octavia smiled.

“I gotta go put my bag down and get my shoes off, I’ll see you after class.” Lexa smiled to the blonde.

“I’ll go with” Raven said and then both girls headed onto the floor.

“What was that?” Octavia asked.

“What?” Clarke asked.

“She just... full on gave you eyes. I haven’t seen Lexa give anyone eyes… ever. And I had seen her when she was with Costia.”

Clarke shrugged, “I don’t know.”

“Mmmhmmm” Octavia smirked, “She likes you! What did you guys talk about today?”

“A lot of stuff… her childhood, her sister Anya, Ballet and Costia.”

“Lexa? You were talking to Lexa right?” Octavia asked sounding surprised.

“Yes Octavia… why?” Clarke asked.

“I didn’t even hear about her childhood until we had been friends for like a year… she’s just very, reserved.”

“She was quite open about it today” Clarke shrugged. “Who’s teaching today, Linc?” She asked changing the subject.

“Indra” Octavia shook her head.

“She scares me” Clarke smiled.

“Careful then, she loves Lexa, and kinda… looks out for her.”

“Oh great” Clarke said.

“You DO like her!” Octavia smiled.

“Shut up, Octavia!” Clarke rolled her eyes.

Thoughts? This is just a preview, this story WILL be posted on AO3 within the next month or so. (I have to get some of my other projects finished before I post this and I would like to have it Completed or very close before I post. Though I do have a lot written!) 

Much love to you all, and as ALWAYS thank you for ALL your support!

[buddyfaith]

I just failed an online quiz for class so I’m gonna do a longwinded character assessment that brittany reblogged for mama debeste to cheer myself up. feel free to challenge me on anything tbh.

1) I sort of like the idea that mama debeste was also a foster kid, but like- she’s 8 or so years removed from her foster siblings? like I don’t think there’s anyone in her age group to hang out with. I think she’s closest to the youngest brother? he’s 7 years older than her or something and usually was the one who was sent to ~babysit~ but actually this little kid is sort of neat. Self-same brother isn’t dead but he’s not. there. I sort of like the idea of military deployment for him. they exchange letters when they can.

2&3) okay so I’m finally gonna make up a healthy marriage and it’s these people. the Fosters (lmao) are a very elderly couple who suffered heavily from Empty Nest Syndrome in like the 70s and have been taking kids in ever since. They are VERY OLD but very kind.

-mama foster is a short woman who likes to garden even though it sometimes fucks with her Arthritis. She’s very plainspoken and knows exactly what the internet is but has some trouble accessing it by herself. Her sense of humor is very deadpan, which doesn’t match her face at all but that makes it much better. mama debeste is a Good Kid who picks tomatoes and collects caterpillars in jars. mama foster has some trouble with younger kids because sarcasm is hard sometimes and her temper is a little short but she loves mama debeste. mama debeste’s favorite part of the usual day-to-day is watching wheel of fortune with her.

-dad foster is a guy who likes to hike. its getting hard for him but he can still go thanks to his kids. they go whenever they can and picnic. mama debeste sometimes gets a little ahead of him to put the collected caterpillars back into the wild. anyway dad foster has like an incredible appreciation for nature and I’m sorely tempted to make him a Bob Ross-esque landscape painter. he’s the kind of dad that gives you candy before dinner and winks. he connects easily to mama debeste because she’s young and likes to get dirty and messes up a picturesque scene just right enough for it to be painted.

when the kids grow up the Fosters have pretty much come to accept that they’ll lose contact with them. mama debeste was determined to not do that and visited regularly but then her own kid died. She went back to see the Fosters for help and they told her that it wasn’t right, not so soon, but losing children is as much a part of life as losing parents, and that she can still come back from it. Mama debeste told them she was leaving for Zheng Fa and they told her to be careful, to be safe, to be smart, and to be kind above all. They were smiling when they said it but there was an air of finality about it, because they knew they had lost her, too.

4) aside from her house burning down with her child inside??

I like to think that her and her brother went wandering around on streets and stuff together and saw some regular stuff yknow. stray animals helping each other, hurting each other, people doing about the same.

Once her brother punched a guy in the face on the subway for spitting at someone and that sort of justified retaliation always stuck with her.

5) mama debeste carries around a swiss army knife like a girl scout, a shitty plastic cigarette lighter, a keychain that was probably a gift that has her house keys on it, two or three pieces of nicotine gum, an instant camera, and her wallet (which in turn contains her driver’s license, Interpol id, library card, two credit cards in Blaise’s name, several pictures of the kiddos, and about $400 in nonconsecutive twenties)

6) mama debeste dreams of her kid. like. what they (he, I’m vaguely leaning towards) would be like growing up and stuff. she also dreams of Zheng Fa and the forest.

7) mama debeste killing people maybe unnecessarily is kind of my jam and they don’t haunt her per se but sometimes she trips over their bodies literally. sometimes she imagines shooting herself because what the hell, she’s a bad person. anyway mama debeste also hates funerals so probably those too and [fire noises].

Silence, notably, too. If you’ve got kids there should never be silence. if you’re anywhere natural there should never be perfect silence.

8) hi welcome to Interpol here’s a paper target except we didn’t tell you there was a watermelon behind the head so that the red explosion would disturb you into perhaps not firing sometimes.

(it failed.)

9) the Fosters are actually fairly well off despite having So Many Kids with expensive extracurriculars and stuff? because they had like, regular people expenditures, it was a little bit more of a natural life. Blaise’s blood money is far less wholesome which is one reason mama debeste goes to such great lengths to get rid of it fast and frivolously. She burns the money in an attempt to warm the home.

10) mama debeste is a sundress lady or a biker leather lady with no inbetween. The former is an expression of serenity and safety. I think the latter gives her more confidence, like the Interpol days.

11) she couldn’t get back into her fucking burning house. the second time she felt so scared was when she realized phoenix was in the second house doomed to fall.

(there were little bits, in the middle, where she lost phoenix in a crowd or sebastian swallowed something he shouldn’t have.)

12) lmao marrying blaise debeste actually. she’s shot people with less conviction, less assurance than she had standing on the altar.

on a calm of a different note, the forest is her friend and the first time she saw phoenix try to paint a tree was great.

13) HAHAHAHAHA next question. (idk if mama debeste: forensics expert is exactly canon but she’s definitely less sensitive to blood than she should be)

14) mama debeste will never forget a face as long as she lives.

15) mama debeste is concerned with the concept of Doing and will blow through all of blaise’s blood money so that her kids can like, have experiences and stuff, but her preoccupation is more spending and acquisition than frugality or anything.

16) let mama debeste be happy 2kwhatever. she knows she probably never will be so she tries to make others happy.

17) her brother made mama debeste a teddy bear out of felt and button eyes and pillow stuffing. he told her later it was because he was really attached to the one he was supposed to Hand Me Down to her but that’s only half-truth. Its name is Growls.

18) probably wisdom considering “ambition” burned her crops and poisoned the kid’s groundwater honestly? blaise seems like the kind to both hide behind and weaponize that word.

19) mama debeste doesn’t say anything. like she’s the ultimate in something is bothering her but she sticks to the gentle smile persona and lets wounds fester until its way too late. this trait is kicked up to eleven with blaise and the kids, which is part of the reason that phoenix has such a sunny memory of her.

20) I don’t think she does compare herself to anyone except for Greg and Desiree Delite. The former is for validation in her parenting style. the latter is when she’s really loathing herself and thinking about what she could do if she would just fucking leave blaise and this petty revenge shit behind and take the kids somewhere–

21) I mean technically the only bad thing that really happens to mama debeste that’s her fault is that she fucking dies and she knows it. she takes sole responsibility for that.

she splits responsibility with people she killed because tbh most of them sort of. deserved it.

she blames blaise for almost one hundred percent for everything else.

22) mama debeste appreciates honesty and kindness. she likes thoughtfulness and dedication to a hobby. she also likes good parents.

23) mama debeste will fight the westboro baptist church. she will also fight anything that reminds her of herself before she loved the kids. and also blaise debeste and everything related to him.

24) mama debeste trusts no one except for maybe people that phoenix trusts. She genuinely likes Greg and lets phoenix sleep over there even though she’s only met him a handful of times.

25) hahahaha mama debeste is the ultimate in seeing through people. she’s super suspicious of strangers and people she doesn’t know getting close to the house. acquaintances are graded based on how much they hate blaise (maximum hate being minimum suspicion). the only people close to mama debeste are phoenix and sebastian.

she worries about what might happen to phoenix and sebastian.

26) I’M CALLING HER MAMA DEBESTE FOR A REASON because at the end of her life she’s really really devoted to the safety of her kids. For the long childless period in the middle she believed that kids could be tools for revenge, but she never really lost the mothering touch, as it were. Shi-Long Lang remembers her very very fondly.

27) have you ever played a really long game of clue with someone and they figure out the answer but instead of running to the pool and announcing it they walk into the foyer and shoot the murderer in the face? yeah. the last logic battle with the ~true antagonist~ of aai2 wouldn’t have even happened because she would have shot him on sight.

her conflict with blaise is too personal for that though so they have a marriage of hate and she’s biding her time. I think that once her USE THE CHILDREN plan broke down she lost sight of whatever her goal was which ultimately ended up killing her.

28) mama debeste is a fan of the fists and an even greater fan of shooting things but she does her absolute best to remain passive and unassuming for as long as she possibly can.

29) I think mama debeste wanted to help people? she definitely had like, a brain surgeon phase, but once that passed I think she settled fairly well on public service through Interpol. there was probably a speaker that came to school or something tbh.

30) mama debeste won’t eat mushrooms and passes this trait onto her kids. she hates socks and sandals. wash ya damn hands. blaise debeste. she also isn’t a particular fan of praying mantises specifically.

31) welcome to the forest. three people are there, herself included. One of them is drawing, the other is fumbling around in the picnic basket looking for an orange. it is later in the day, but evening isn’t in the sky yet. The breeze is gentle and smells like pine.

[gamesmakers]

That Time We Took Over the World

For @mores2sl.

Kensington, England

April 13, 2015

Local Time: 8:42 AM

“Everdeen.” He rose his glass to her before taking a long swig of what had better be water. “And here I thought you didn’t like me anymore.”

“You know, I just spent eleven hours flying here from Los Angeles. I even paid fourteen bucks extra for internet so Effie could get ahold of me if your condition changed. The least you could do is act like you had a heart attack this morning.”

“Yesterday morning, but I’m all right. They’ll get me some stints, and I’ll be better than ever.” Now that she got a good look at Haymitch, she saw what Effie had been so worried about when they talked this, fine, yesterday morning. The IV bag was all too obvious, but all the quips and one-liners in the world couldn’t hide the fifteen years he seemed to have put on since she’d seen him last Christmas. With the extra gray in the beard he never shaved but had never quite filled in and the deep bags under his eyes, he looked far older than fifty-nine. Those decades of hard living had finally caught up with him. “Y’know, I was thinking earlier.”

“You don’t say.” She didn’t care if he had been dead for almost two minutes yesterday. Haymitch walking into his own favorite insult was too good of an opportunity to pass by.

He glared at her. “As I was saying, I was thinking about your career after these goons were still trying to figure out if they’d saved me or not.” If he thought the legion of medical professionals who restarted his heart were goons, he had to be feeling better.

“And what did you decide?” she prompted.

“Now, hear me out. This might not seem like the most natural pairing, but the more I think about it, the more I think it could really work out well. People really dig that fusion shit, you know?”

“Haymitch!”

He took another drink of his water, then set it aside. “So, kid, tell me. What do you know about Peeta Mellark?”

Chelsea, England

April 13, 2015

Local Time: 11:27 PM

In the late nineties, nobody could escape the Tributes - not that anybody besides a few jealous teenage boys and tired parents really wanted to. The more enthusiastic members of the media heralded the five boys as a return to the Golden Age. They sang. They danced. They even made a film that, surprisingly enough, wasn’t terrible. “Like five Frank Sinatras,” one Rolling Stone critic wrote about them, “but more good-looking.” For teenagers who had been holding down part-time jobs at McDonald’s and Burger King not a year prior, it was high praise indeed. But the longer one watched them, the more justified the comparison seemed. With fourteen chart-topping singles and practically constant sellout world tours, they were on the road to the kind of superstardom that actually manages to worm its way into the history books.

But tastes changed, interest waned, and almost as suddenly as they had shot to fame, the Tributes’ career fizzled out. The former teen idols were suddenly the butt of jokes everywhere from late night talk shows to schoolyards. There was an attempt at a comeback, then another, but the only mercy came when the group officially announced their breakup. With that last blast of publicity, the group somehow managed to fade from the public consciousness completely.

Only one member managed to emerge from the rubble unscathed. Finnick Odair had in some ways always been the star of the group. The man was the closest thing the world had to a living, breathing Adonis. Nobody could really blame the army of managers, executives, and publicity workers that fueled any operation as big as the Tributes for wanting to place him in the center of every photograph or giving him the most solos. Issues of consent and sexualization of a sixteen-year-old hadn’t been the world’s main priority as they collectively drooled over the most recent pictures of him. At least publicly, Finnick seemed to have been able to brush that off with no big impact. Even fifteen years later, his new releases were almost guaranteed to land in the top ten, and he snagged the starring roles in some of Hollywood’s biggest movies.

Katniss had never been his biggest fan, but like every other heterosexual female she knew, she followed him on Instagram. Something about the muscular star holding his new baby and grinning really did it for her. She’d blame it on evolution.

Tonight, Finnick Odair wasn’t her main focus. She scrolled down the Wikipedia article to find the section on Peeta Mellark. Okay, she vaguely remembered him from the poster Prim had hung in their shared bedroom when she was in middle school. The article said he had released his first and only solo album seven years ago and continued to tour, though a quick scan of the upcoming dates and venues showed that he was mostly going to small casinos and clubs. Katniss kind of wanted to judge him for that, but then again, Haymitch wouldn’t go around trying to pair her up with a successful artist. Sure, she played guitar – really well, actually, well enough to make a very comfortable living off of session work – but you couldn’t start a conversation with random strangers on the street about Katniss Everdeen’s style.

She clicked out of that article and returned to the YouTube mix entitled ‘Tributes and Peeta Mellark Ultimate Fanmix :-)’. As a thirty-two-year-old woman and devoted artist, did she feel ridiculous sitting here, listening to ‘90s pop? Absolutely. Did she find herself humming along? Well, the Tributes had gotten popular for a reason.

San Bernadino, California

May 4, 2015

Local Time: 9:56 PM

Peeta Mellark took his job very seriously. One would have to if they were going to go onstage at the San Manuel Indian Bingo & Casino in an outfit straight from a music video that came out twenty years ago. The black pants and tight-fitting, primary colored t-shirts had looked a little too Star Trek in 1997, and the look hadn’t aged well. She applauded professionalism and devotion to one’s craft as much as the next person, but there came a point where one should walk away with their head held high and try something outside of entertainment. Katniss estimated Peeta had reached that point about ten years ago. The cheese value of this routine was through the roof. He did more flirting with the audience than actual singing, and every joke had the muddy flavor of having been used night after night for years. In a few spots, no matter how hard she tried to be polite, she had to roll her eyes. Good thing Peeta had managed to comp her a ticket for this show, or she’d be out more than the mileage to drag herself out to San Bernadino.

“For my next song, I’d like to mix it up a little and take suggestions from the audience. Anything’s fair game, mine or not.”

The crowd ate it up the same way they’d gobbled up the jokes earlier. Could they not see that he had a plant? At best, he might take a suggestion from an actual audience member and accept it if it happened to be in the lineup of songs he and his backing group had rehearsed, but otherwise, he’d move on to the predetermined ‘guest’ who’d lob him an easy one. Oldest trick in the book.

“Um, how about you, ma’am? Dark hair, braid, right in front of the stage, very pretty. What would you like to hear?”

It took Katniss a second to realize that he was referring to her. Her mind scrambled through an inventory of thousands of songs, but one kept coming up again and again. “’Til There Was You’.” Not exactly her usual style, and it came as a missed opportunity to see what he could do with something more folky, but oh well. She could grill him on folk’s greats later. It wasn’t like he would actually play her song anyway.

“Gotta love musicals. Who here likes The Music Man?” The crowd cheered as Peeta moved to the piano. Wait, was he actually going to follow through with this? She had to give him some respect for that. His accompaniment wasn’t what she would expect out of a professional pianist, but it got the job done. “I’ve got this on the CD I play when I’m driving to work. It’s one of my favorites.”

The voice she heard then barely sounded like the one she’d heard earlier. That had been as stale as his jokes, but now, he sent emotion rippling through the room. For a moment, Meredith Willson’s metaphorical bells were very, very real, and she did hear them ringing, and maybe, just maybe, Haymitch had been on to something.

San Bernadino, California

May 4, 2015

Local Time: 11:05 PM

After the show, several women her age and older loitered around the stage. Peeta chatted with them one at a time, all winks and smiles that promised something naughty. Now, she had hung around with enough big stars to know that chatting up women after the show was to be expected, but did he not remember that they had a meeting scheduled? According to the schedule Effie had found for her, he had three more shows at this very venue in the next week. There would be plenty of other chances to get laid, but he had royally screwed up his first meeting with a potential business partner. Good to know he had his priorities straight.

Only after he had gathered a few telephone numbers did he deign to join her. “Katniss?” he asked hesitantly.

“Yes.” He smiled, and she rose to shake his hand. “After that show, you don’t need any introduction.”

“Nice to finally meet you in person.” Maybe he was just a good actor, but the words sounded genuine. Then again, he had sounded pretty genuine a few minutes ago when he was prepping new notches for his bedpost, so maybe she shouldn’t put too much weight on that. “Sorry to put you on the spot back there. I didn’t realize it was you.”

“You did really well with it.”

“Thanks. I really do have it on CD in my car, but I’d never performed it live before tonight. Especially coming from you, it’s great to hear I did all right with it.” He sat down at the table for two that had been hers alone for the show. “I’ve been reading a lot about you since we talked on the phone. I didn’t realize how many of my favorite albums you’ve been on.” God damn it, she couldn’t let him charm her the way he had those other women, but goodness did it feel nice to hear her work praised. “I mean, you’ve worked with everyone around. The Stones, Madonna, I think I saw McCartney on there too. I know you want to do something more on the folk side, but your catalog is pop and rock and roll royalty.”

“Thanks.” She was going to start blushing if he didn’t tone it down a little. He leaned in just a little, and Katniss met those gorgeous blue eyes, and well, it was too late on that whole not blushing thing. “Really, thanks.”

“Sorry, I just don’t think you studio musicians get enough credit. You’re the ones who make the rest of us look good, and we don’t bother to say thanks often enough.”

Definitely buttering her up, then. Good. That meant he wanted to go through with Haymitch’s scheme, erm, idea. She smiled at him. “Flattering as this is, if we don’t stop trading compliments, I think we’ll be sitting here for hours and I’d really like to go home at some point.” Two could play that game. “I’d like to hear your thoughts on Haymitch’s proposal.”

“Wouldn’t want that to happen,” he laughed. “Y’know, I’ve been thinking a lot about it, and…” his voice trailed off and he shook his head ever so slightly. “I’m not sure it’s what’s best for my career.” Wait, what? How was it that Peeta Mellark, corny C-grade casino performer, was the one putting a stop to this? She had an actual career. At any moment, there were five or ten requests for her to come in and play, and with the big names too, and he thought this wasn’t right for him? Her knuckles went white as she fisted her hands into the tablecloth. He must have noticed, because he immediately backpedaled. “That sounded bad. What I mean is, well, this might not seem like a lot to you, but I kind of like it. I get to travel all the time. I constantly get to meet new people. It’s not a very glamorous part of showbiz, but it keeps food on the table and lets me sing instead of working at the bakery back home.

“That being said, I’ve been doing this at varying levels nonstop for twenty years, and I’m ready to try something new.”

“So you want to go for it.”

“I’d at least like to test some things out, yeah.”

“That’s about at the point where I am too,” she admitted.

He had a great smile. It wasn’t fair, really, that he got the eyes, the smile, and the voice all rolled up in one package. How was the female portion of the population supposed to resist? Katniss stopped herself before she could take that line of thought too far. If things worked out, they would be business partners, and even if people didn’t always respect professional boundaries in this industry, she was better than that. “Then I think this could be the start of a beautiful friendship.”

“Casablanca and The Music Man in one night?”

“Hey, if someone’s said it better already, why not let them say it for you?”

“I hope that’s not the approach you take to songwriting,” she deadpanned.

Peeta winked. “As you wish.”

“Princess Bride, and you’d better.”

Los Angeles, California

June 25, 2015

Local Time: 3:09 PM

“I’m so sorry, that session was only supposed to last the morning. He promised we’d be out by noon.” She really ought to spend some more quality time with that stupid treadmill she’d shelled out six hundred bucks for the Christmas before last. Katniss had only run from the corner to the front door of Haymitch’s office, but even after a few seconds spent panting and wondering if she was about to collapse dead, she still sounded like she was trying for a personal best marathon time.

On second thought, maybe dying wouldn’t have been so bad. Three sets of eyes were on her, the expressions on them a rainbow that went from concerned to amused to annoyed. Yes, an hour and forty minutes late was bad, but she had called as soon as she knew the session was going to run long.

Peeta broke the silence first. “Hey, Katniss. How are you?”

She smiled at him as she took the remaining seat. “I’m pretty good. Howa bout you, Peeta? Effie?” She didn’t need some smartass answer from Haymitch right now, so she left him out.

Not that that strategy ever worked. “So, who chased you up here?”

He got a well-deserved glare for that one. “I just couldn’t wait to get back in your presence. It’s such a magical place to be.”

Effie giggled at that, light and tinkling, but then it was all business. “We’ve been filling Peeta in on the basic business plan we have for you. Katniss, you’ve said that you have quite the catalog of songs built up, so we figured it would be best to use one of them for first single.” She turned to Peeta. “You’ll love them. She won’t brag about them, modest thing she is, but Haymitch has played a few of her demos for me, and they’re just lovely.” If Peeta wasn’t here, she would have hit him. She’d never given Haymitch permission to show any of those recordings to anybody. “If we can’t find anything we like in there, we can always find something to cover, but well, neither of you is getting any younger, and it’s better to get something out as soon as possible.” Katniss did her best not to flinch at that. She knew age was more of an issue for her than Peeta. Female stardom seemed to have an expiration date of around thirty-five, and she was getting closer every day. “Ideally, we’ll have you in the studio next week, have a single out on iTunes in six weeks tops. Then we’ll get you out on tour and hope for the best.”

“Do you ever hope for anything else?” Haymitch asked. “Ouch!” Oh good, if Effie hadn’t kicked him for that, Katniss would’ve had to, and after that admittedly short run, she didn’t feel like moving at all.

Effie smiled at them. “Any questions?”

She and Peeta exchanged glances and shrugs. “I think we’re good.”

“Excellent. Then let’s get started on the paperwork.”

To both of their credit, neither groaned audibly, but Katniss was pretty sure it was a shared sentiment.

Los Angeles, California

June 29, 2015

Local Time: 9:40 AM

Buttercup had only stayed with her for a week while Prim was out of town, and that had been a month ago, but she still found orange cat hair all over her furniture. On days like today, when she wore black, she might as well just add a pair of Tigger ears to complete the costume. Peeta’s black pants were going to be a mess when he got up too. Fingers crossed, he wouldn’t notice.

It would be a lot harder to ignore the fact that she’d said she was going to the kitchen to find some snacks but would return empty-handed. She blamed it on the rock ‘n’ roll lifestyle. Her minifridge currently held the three-day-old remnants of a meal at Chili’s, three bottles of beer, half a jar of dill pickles, and a thing of ketchup. She didn’t even like ketchup. The pantry wasn’t much better. She’d been trying to cut down on her salty snacks habit, which was both doing nothing to help her slim down and not very helpful when it came to being a gracious hostess.

Opening the fridge a second time did nothing to help finger foods magically appear. What a time for witchcraft to fail her. She settled for grabbing two of the beers and heading back to the living room. A+ hostess. They ought to stamp her high society entrance ticket right now.

Peeta sat cross-legged in the center of the room, eyes closed and swaying along with the music flooding through the oversized headphones. She had spent hours over the past three days going through the songs she’d written over the years. Like everything, ninety percent of them were absolute shit, but she hadn’t touched some of them since high school, and revisiting them had brought her almost as many smiles as cringes. Almost.

“Anything sticking out to you?”

Peeta slipped off the headphones. “Yeah. How do you not have a solo career? Your voice is great.”

“Not what I was asking.”

“But inquiring minds want to know.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Want a Bud Light?” She hadn’t even been prepared enough to buy decent beer.

“Yes, please.” She handed him the bottle, and he cracked it open and took a long sip, studying her the whole time. “You know, I’m not sure what to think of you.”

“Thank you very little.”

He grinned. “Caddyshack?”

“Yep. Two can play at that game.” She sat down on her sad, worn couch and opened her own beer. “And one can win.”

“Trust me, you don’t want to turn it into a competition. I’ve been touring at least eight months of the year for the past decade, and Netflix and I have spent a lot of quality time together.”

“I thought you liked traveling.” He had said that, hadn’t he? She probably should’ve been paying more attention to the words he said and less to the lips that said them during their earlier meetings, but who could blame a girl for looking? A painfully single woman whose only serious relationship had petered out eight years ago had every excuse.

“Oh, I do, a lot. And I try to get a good taste of the local culture wherever I go, but when you’re in Boise for the sixth time, you kind of run out of new things to do.”

“Fair.”

“Okay, you’ve dodged the question for long enough. Who are you?”

That question made her feel like a Bond girl: sexy, mysterious, and more likely than not playing both sides flawlessly. Too bad she had no idea what those two sides would be in this situation and all her foreign, ‘exotic’ accents were shit. “I’m not sure what you’re after.”

He scooched away to lean back against the room’s single chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s not a bad thing. You’re just hard to figure out is all.” Peeta paused for a minute, collecting his thoughts. “What I mean is, I don’t understand why you’d be interested in this arrangement. You’re a rock guitarist, and you’re very successful at it, but the stuff you want to record is all pretty folky. I’m open to anything, but my background’s in pop.”

“Haymitch suggested it, and I thought it sounded like a good idea.”

“That doesn’t add up either. Why is it that you have a manager that’s mostly involved in the country scene?”

“Oh, that’s just coincidence. Haymitch was married to my mom for a very short time when I was a teenager, and we stayed in touch after they divorced. He actually got me my first break.” She rose one eyebrow. “That, or we’ve carefully crafted an intricate spider web of lies with which to entrap you.”

“A guy can never be too careful. The pretty ones are dangerous.”

She made note of that comment so the part of her that was still fourteen could overanalyze and obsess over it later. “Do you have a song picked out?”

“I’ve got it narrowed down to three, but I’m leaning toward ‘Mockingjay’.”

“I like that one too. Want to go for it?”

He laughed. “We’ve really put a lot of careful consideration into all of this, haven’t we?”

“Let’s call it great minds thinking alike instead.”

Annapolis, Maryland

September 1, 2015

Local Time: 9:07 PM

Peeta looked over to her and grinned. Ready? he mouthed.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, hoping the butterflies would fly out of her stomach as she exhaled. When had that ever worked?

“Don’t worry. You’ll be great.” He could say that all he wanted. He’d been doing shows practically constantly for twenty years. Bill Clinton had still been president the last time she did a live gig. No, maybe it had been in 2001, right after Bush the Younger came into office. Either way, if it had been long enough that she didn’t remember the year, she certainly didn’t know what it would feel like. Fuck, it had been a few years since she’d been able to ride a roller coaster without feeling sick to her stomach the rest of the day, and that was way less adrenaline than getting in front of two hundred people and singing. Never mind that most of them were there to see Peeta, and that she was a sideshow attraction at best, she’d still be up there with him, and –

“Katniss, don’t worry. It’ll be fine. I mean it.” Peeta gave her upper arm the gentlest of punches. “You’re great. If you can play for Paul McCartney and impress him, you’ll amaze these people.”

Like wax strips, sometimes it was just better to tug things off as quickly as possible, bleeding or other bodily injury be damned. “Let’s just get this over with.”

“All right.” He winked. “Here’s looking at you, kid.”

She frowned at him. “Casablanca, and that’s not the spirit at all.”

Peeta gave her another one of those grins that she was quickly coming to hate – or love, if there was any difference. “But it got your mind off of it.”

Annapolis, Maryland

September 1, 2015

Local Time: 10:56 PM

There wasn’t bleach strong enough to wipe the smile off her face. Who cared if she’d forgotten some of the words in the third verse of “Blowin’ In The Wind”? It hadn’t been her favorite song since middle school, and nobody could understand what Dylan was singing half the time anyway. It lent authenticity to their performance. The adrenaline had kicked in somewhere around the third number, and she hadn’t even wanted to take a break in between sets. While Peeta had gone to grab them some water, she had stayed on stage, singing any song that came to mind. Rock, folk, show tunes, at this point, she didn’t care. Why had she ever cared about that? Distinctions were stupid. She could play one thing as well as another, and if the audience didn’t mind, she wasn’t going to act all high and mighty about which things were better than which. Who got to decide what was good and not? Not her, that’s for sure, and if she had her way, they’d stop using words like that. Outdated language was what it was, not taking into account personal taste. As always, the patriarchy stayed hard at work, grueling over their 1950s-era language like they knew best. They’d be upset when they got home and realized she didn’t have dinner ready for them, but their time was long gone, and hers had dawned.

“It’s about time that we wrap up for tonight.” A few audience members groaned at Peeta’s words. He cocked his head and grinned. “Don’t be too sad. We’re going to miss you too. But, before we head out, we’ve got a real treat for you: our first public performance of our new single, ‘Mockingjay,’ now available!”

“One, two, three, four!” She started with the guitar, and there it was, out for the world to see. Katniss had practiced this song hundreds of times since Haymitch and Effie pulled this tour together two weeks before. Every night before bed, every morning when she woke up. If she wasn’t playing it, she was thinking through it, running through the chords, quizzing herself on the lyrics. Her fingers knew what to do, and the word slipped out without any conscious thought, and for the first time in years, she could just be.

She watched, and she listened, but mostly, she floated above everything. It sounded so cheesy in retrospect, but she felt like she was in the audience more than on stage, watching herself and Peeta as an outsider. She loved it, all of it. The words sat right in a way that only her own words could, the representation of feelings that, though shared in some respect with the rest of humanity, were hers and hers alone. She basked in his voice, swayed with her accompaniment, and the chorus slowly pulled her back to herself. At the second chorus, she and Peeta locked eyes, and they didn’t break their gaze until the last chord finishing reverberating through the room.

Applause made her nerves light up brighter than the Christmas tree at the Rockefeller Center. Heat rushed to Katniss’ cheeks, and as soon as she finished two stiff bows, she got the hell out of there. Though Peeta had spent several minutes greeting fans after his show in San Bernadino, he followed only a few steps behind. “You were great!” he said, beaming. Post-gig afterglow was definitely a real phenomenon.

“You think so?” She should say something nice about his performance back, but her mind was still reeling from all of it, and that had only been a hundred and fifty people. What would she do if they ever sold out a stadium? Probably too early to be thinking about that, considering that before the show, they’d only sold ninety-seven copies of ‘Mockingjay’ on iTunes, and that number included Prim, her mom, and all of Peeta’s family, but it never hurt to plan ahead.

“Incredible.” He’d moved even closer. From here, it was impossible not to notice how brilliantly blue his eyes were, and she just wanted to stare at them for a while, commit every detail of them to memory. It didn’t register that there might be a reason Peeta’s face was so close until his lips met hers.

One hand found his shoulder while the fingers of the other carded through thick blonde hair. He wrapped his arms around her, warm and strong, and she sighed against him, moving herself in closer still. Peeta’s breathing turned ragged as his fingers brushed against the back of her neck, and though she keened into the touch, the rational part of her brain finally kicked in. Katniss wanted nothing more than to give in, to do as she’d wanted to from the moment they’d met, but as warmth and desire curled and pooled within her, she moved her lips away from his. “Peeta,” she said, breathless. “Peeta, this is a bad idea.”

His forehead furrowed for the briefest of instants, then he stepped away. “I’m sorry. I thought – never mind. I apologize.”

“No, don’t.” God, she wanted to kiss him again, replace that regret with the passion she’d felt just seconds prior. She wet her lips, and his eyes followed the motion. “I mean, don’t be sorry. Just don’t do it again.”

“Of course,” he responded, avoiding her eyes. Somehow, she doubted the plain white wall was really that interesting, but Katniss wasn’t going to call him out on that. She’d done enough damage already. “Um, should I go, or do you want me to stick around and walk you back to your room?”

She was more than capable of finding her way from the hotel’s club back to her room, thank you very much, and any other time, she would make sure he knew that. “I’d like to walk with you.” Katniss glanced down at his hand, thought about how nice it would be to walk up hand in hand, invite him inside, let herself cut loose for the first time in months, but he stuffed his fists into his pockets. “Peeta?” she asked. “It really is all right.”

He gave her the stiffest nod she’d ever received.

Milwaukee, Wisconsin

November 7, 2015

Local Time: 8:31 AM

“Katniss!” The door rattled on its hinges as he knocked. Wanted to wake up the entire hotel, did he? “Katniss!”

Eight thirty was way too early to be dealing with this kind of shit. Still, she didn’t want the poor guests that got stuck next to her to have any more of their mornings ruined. With a sigh, she hoisted herself out of bed and padded over to the door. “What’s wrong?” she said as the door swung open to reveal a far too excited Peeta.

“Wrong? We’re in the top ten!”

“Wait, really?” Any remaining grogginess disappeared in an instant. “Let me see!”

He pressed his phone into her hands and stepped further into her room.

Her hand flew up to her mouth to cover her gasp. There it was, everything she’d been dreaming of. A top ten chart, and there they were, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark, right at sweet, sweet number three. She never thought she’d live to see the day. It had seemed impossible, the ultimate pipe dream. No, some random pipe had a better chance of being stolen and made into a found art item valued at a million dollars than she had of releasing a hit single. Incredible. Just incredible.

She turned at a popping sound to see Peeta standing next to the dresser, pouring two glasses of champagne. Usually, she’d say it was too early to start drinking, but today, Katniss could get away with anything. Damn responsibility. Who was going judge her for a little early-morning alcohol? The only other person who knew about this was right there in the same boat with her.

Wait, what chart was this? God, she hoped it was the Hot 100. Anything was a godsend, but Billboard… Billboard was something else, and –

Sverigetopplistan. There was no way that was a real word. She couldn’t even begin to pronounce it. But it had the words ‘top’ and ‘list’, and that couldn’t be good.

A quick Google search told her everything she needed to know. “We’re only number three in Sweden?”

“We’re actually at three in Finland too. ‘Mockingjay’ is doing really well all across Scandinavia. I know it’s in the top twenty in Denmark and Norway, and I want to say it’s doing about the same in Latvia or Lithuania – I don’t remember which. Isn’t it great?”

“Uh, yeah.” She couldn’t help that her voice sounded a little flat.

Peeta winced. “Sorry, the way I said that made it sound like we had it on the British or American charts, didn’t it? I wasn’t trying to get your hopes up.” He held up the glass. “Champagne? I shelled out for some halfway decent stuff.”

She accepted the glass. “Thanks. To us?”

“To our continuing success,” he replied. They clinked their glasses together. “You know, I think we’re looking at this the wrong way. We are now international pop stars.”

“We appeal to the more refined tastes of the European market,” she added.

“America might be our homeland, but it is also our respite from our legions of devoted fans.” The CDC probably classified Peeta’s smile as a communicable disease. “Why would you want to be on the Walk of Fame in Hollywood when you could be on the one in Stockholm? Much cleaner.”

Katniss laughed and went for another sip of champagne only to find it was all gone. He noticed and went to fetch the bottle. “We can’t have you running out of champagne. After that first hit, you never know when the diva behavior is going to start kicking in.”

“You know, you’re really lucky that you’re cute, because otherwise, there’s no way I would put up with that.” The words just slipped out before she could really think about what she was saying. She hadn’t drank enough yet to blame it on the champagne yet, either. Damn it. Alcoholism was a terrible disease, and she understood that, but what she wouldn’t give right now to use Haymitch’s ‘I haven’t been in complete control of my actions for a decade’ excuse.

Peeta’s grin widened. “Just how much would you let me get away with?” His expression was pure sin, and Katniss blushed practically down to her toes.

“Has Haymitch heard the news yet?” Time to change the subject before she said anything even more regretful.

And as though flirting was as easy to turn on and off as a light switch – and for him, maybe it was – Peeta was back to friendly but professional. “Yeah, he’s the one who called me. Believe it or not, I don’t spend my mornings browsing the Scandinavian pop charts.”

“You might have to start now.”

“Good point. Guess I can work it into my busy schedule somehow,” Peeta laughed.

Gary, Indiana

November 23, 2015

Local Time: 10:14 AM

Peeta was a world-class pacer. Unless social niceties dictated that he absolutely had to sit, the man kept to his little four steps forward, right turn, four steps, right turn habit at all times. And so when Katniss walked into his hotel room – they’d left knocking behind weeks ago – to find him talking on the phone and standing stock-still in the very center of the room, she immediately grew concerned.

He didn’t notice her presence, too focused on his conversation to hear soft footsteps against the carpet. She moved back towards the door. He deserved his privacy as much as anyone else. “Yeah, for sure. That’d be a great opportunity, and I’m sure Katniss is on board too.” At the sound of her name, she froze. “I just need to check that the schedule will work out. We’re on the road right now, and you know how I am with dates.” He paused while the person on the other end spoke. “Of course. I’ll call our manager right now and get back to you as soon as I’ve got something. Yep, talk to you soon. Say hi to Annie and Ronan for me.”

“Who was that, and what am I on board for?”

Peeta jumped at the sound of her voice, but he quickly recovered. “Finnick. He’s got a big tour coming up, and his opening act canceled on him at the last minute. He’s wondering if we’re available.” She managed to keep her mouth from falling open, but only barely. Peeta laughed. “Yeah, that was my reaction too. He says he really likes ‘Mockingjay,’ and Annie – that’s his wife, she’s a sweetheart – has been playing it nonstop for days.”

In any other circumstance, she would be flattered, but her mind could only focus on one of those ideas at a time. “He wants us to tour with him?”

“Yeah. Isn’t it great? I mean, you do want to, right?”

“When?” She sounded breathless. Accurate.

“His first show’s in Seattle on the fourteenth.”

“Three weeks.” Okay, they could do three weeks. It might be a little bit of a logistical nightmare to get everything together, but it was an achievable logistical nightmare with some fantastic benefits. How many people attended each of Finnick’s concerts? She’d gone and seen him at the Hollywood Bowl a few years ago with friends, and that place had to seat twenty thousand, easy. He could probably sell out much bigger stadiums, too, and even if the audience wasn’t super excited by the prospect of listening to something kind of folky before the pop show, that was still twenty thousand more people exposed to their music, and even if only one, two percent wanted to go and pick up the album…

“Katniss? What do you think?”

She snatched his phone out of his hand. “I’m going to call Haymitch. He and Effie can make this work. I don’t care if we have to rearrange a few other dates.” She laughed, probably looking like a crazy woman. Oh well. Crazy old witch was one thing, but successful crazy old witch was pretty freaking fantastic.

Los Angeles, California

December 9, 2015

Local Time: 4:21 PM

Beyond a nice dinner with Prim at Sae’s, Katniss scheduled nothing for the two weeks she would be in Los Angeles before they started touring again. Nothing was going to get in the way of her sleeping as much as possible. She put in a grocery order with a delivery service and checked out of life for two weeks. After more than two months of almost-nonstop touring, she deserved it.

It got old after two days. By the third, she was ready to pull hair, and whether it was hers or someone else’s didn’t much matter. Most of her friends weren’t around on an everyday basis – she supposed that kind of came with the entertainment business – and anyway, she’d never been the most social sort. Katniss knew she should be resting up for the next tour, but instead, she found herself filling every waking moment with something. The pervs that hung out on practically every street corner in Los Angeles had always turned her off of walking around the city by herself, but almost every day, she took hours-long walks around her area. She ducked into art galleries and coffee shops she’d noted as places to check out but never managed to get to and wandered around the city’s parks, snapping photos and picking the occasional flower when no one was watching.

As she explored, she allowed herself to think. Big mistake. She didn’t confine herself to any single topic, and she covered quite a bit of ground. Art, the meaning of life, whether or not she’d remembered to lock the apartment on her way out, all of it came up. But she mostly thought about Peeta. He was three thousand miles away in Boston, and she still couldn’t get away from him. Peeta Mellark had ruined ogling cute blond guys, because none of them could quite measure up. She’d see some diet-busting pastry in a window, and her mind would leap to the cheese buns and raspberry tarts she’d tried from his family’s bakery when they’d played that gig in Worcester. He had even infiltrated her blessed TV-watching, because flipping through channels, she’d end up on TCM, and there he was again with one of those movie quotes that she hated but couldn’t get enough of.

When she ended up watching one of the films, she’d text quotes to him, and no matter the time of day, within thirty seconds, he replied with the title. Katniss hoped he cheated and googled them. Nobody should have watched No Orchids for Miss Blandish enough times to be able to quote it.

Damn boy was driving her nuts. She’d given Delly a hard time in high school for crushes far less consuming. How low had she fallen?

Three more days until she saw him again, but who was keeping track?

Seattle, Washington

December 12, 2015

Local Time: 3:09 PM

“Peeta!” She ran towards him, luggage in tow. Two little old ladies moved to one side so she could pass, and one flashed her a thumbs up. Katniss had him wrapped in a hug the instant she got close enough. “How are you? How was Boston?”

He squeezed her. “I’ve been good. Kind of wondering why I thought it was a good idea to visit home in February, but it was good. Nice to see everyone.” He broke away first. Smart move – airport baggage claims were hardly the place for public displays of affection, even completely platonic ones between friends that definitely didn’t want to screw each other. “So, how’s California? Ten below and covered in snow like Boston?”

“Isn’t it always?”

Peeta laughed, and wow, had she missed that. Cliché as it was, Katniss was convinced that one noise could light up an entire room, maybe power all the street lights in Seattle for the rest of the year. “I’m sure you froze half to death.”

“I wore shorts every day I was home.”

“So did I. They only had to amputate one limb.”

“If you two are done, we’ve got the car waiting outside.” She spun to find Haymitch standing behind them and waiting.

“Hey, Haymitch. How’ve you been?”

“Good. Get in the car.” He pushed Peeta in front of him and stayed behind with Katniss a moment. “What do you think you’re doing, kid?”

She shook her head. “I have no idea anymore.”

Seattle, Washington

December 12, 2015

Local Time: 11:30 PM

“You know, I’ve been to rehab three times, and marrying your mother is still the worst mistake I’ve ever made.”

“Rehab was a mistake?” She couldn’t let something like that slide.

“No, the choices I made that landed me there were mistakes.” Haymitch took another swig of his Southern Comfort. “And the first time I went to rehab was a mistake too - made me think that getting clean was gonna make me come to Jesus or some shit like that, scared me off the idea for years – but that’s not the point. They always tell you that your drinking is affecting the lives of the people you love, and trust me, they’re right. They’ve got more scientists than I can count running all kinds of studies and coming up with figures to show you how right they are. And I’m good at fucking up the lives of the people around me – you’ve seen it more times than I want to remember.”

Katniss nodded, wary. She was used to Haymitch drunk, or angry, or the quiet, determined way he got when he had a plan that he was dead-set on seeing to completion, but she hadn’t seen this kind of open emotion from him before. Frankly, the thought of some baring their soul, particularly to her, made Katniss a little nauseous. She had signed up for Thursday night drinks and catching up, not a feelings orgy worthy of the Hallmark channel.

But he kept going, a steamroller headed downhill at a hundred miles an with no brakes. “Well, I really thought I had things under control this time. Y’know, I’d been to rehab, managed to stay clean for a whole year. Still wanted a drink from the moment I got up right up ‘til I fell asleep at night, but I figured that was to be expected. I know you’ve heard all that before, but it bears worth repeating. Your mom, she just seemed perfect. Too perfect, looking back on things. Gorgeous, smart, patient as can be – you’d have to be, to put up with me.”

She had her own opinion on that matter, but now wasn’t the time. “Haymitch, I’ve got things to do today. You sure that –“

“Let me finish. Long story short, she was too good for me, and I knew it, but I somehow managed to con her into marrying me anyway. And guess what? All I wanted to do was make things better. I really did, and still do, care about how you all ended up, but I couldn’t keep it together, and I ended up taking you all with me. Made you move, have to do the whole new school, new friends thing, made you deal with my problems, forced you to deal with my divorce because I wasn’t responsible enough to deal with my shit by myself.” Tears had gathered in the corners of his eyes. She wasn’t sure if she should try to comfort him or bolt. Katniss settled for reaching over and giving him an awkward pat on the back. Beyond a few handshakes over the years, this might very well be the first time she’d touched Haymitch. She’d been twelve when he’d come into her family’s life, and at a point in her life when she scorned physical contact with everybody, and neither of them had ever been the touchy-feely type. “Cut it out. You see, it’s happening again. I’m the one who made you hurt, and now you’re cleaning me up. That’s what happens when you let someone who’s too good for you in. You take and take until there’s nothing left to give, and when they finally give up and leave you, you’re both left with nothing.”

“You think Peeta’s too good for me.”

Haymitch’s eyes were steady as he nodded.

“Fuck off.” God, she wanted to leave with that, but something kept her rooted in place. She choked on something that wasn’t quite a laugh and bordered on a sob. “That’s precious, coming from you.”

“There’s a reason we get along so well, sweetheart. Here, have some.” He pushed the bottle towards her, but she pushed it away as she rose, spilling fat drops of amber liquor all over the pristine white couch. It’d be a bitch to clean up later, she reflected, but then again, so would she.

Katniss didn’t stop running until she was well into the parking lot, and even then, she only stopped because there was no place to go.

That seemed to happen a lot these days.

Toronto, Ontario

January 10, 2016

Local Time: 11:11 AM

When she and Peeta had gone on tour previously, it really had been just the two of them, Peeta’s Lincoln, and four different hotel rewards cards. They didn’t have a lot of extra equipment, so there was no need for anyone to help them haul anything, and though there were at least daily phone calls with Effie and Haymitch, nobody needed to be there to hold their hand and get them to the gigs on time. It was bare-bones, but it was fun. Yeah, that meant that she had spent an evening in Peeta’s car with a bottle of nail polish remover after a less-than-successful attempt at giving herself a pedicure in a moving vehicle, but they also got to talk and joke and stop at stupid roadside attractions whenever they felt like it.

Finnick’s touring was as far away from that as one could get. First of all, they had a private jet. She supposed that made sense, as thirty-five people accompanied Finnick everywhere. Family, security, personal assistant, sound engineer, stage coordinator, the backing group, Katniss, Peeta, and two people whose purpose on the tour remained a mystery even four weeks into the three-month stint. She blamed those people for her current situation.

There was a timid knock, then the door opened just a crack. “Are you feeling okay?” Peeta asked.

“The only reason I know I’m not dead is that everything still hurts.” Her voice came out as little more than a whisper. Katniss had always liked to think that she could tough her way through just about anything. How nice of this cold/flu/sinus monstrosity to rid her of that delusion.

Peeta didn’t move away from the door. Smart guy. “Do you think you’re going to feel good enough to perform tonight?”

“Yes.” That wasn’t even a question. She would have to actually be dead to not show up for tonight’s show. In the halo ring that was this tour, tonight’s show, the only one that would be broadcast live to millions of home viewers, was the pendant diamond, the one your friends were really complimenting when they said how pretty the whole thing looked. They forecasted that twelve million viewers would tune in tonight. She was going to wow every single one of them.

“You can’t talk. How are you going to sing?”

“I’ll rest until then.”

Peeta frowned. “I’ll go to CVS. Do you like pills or liquid cold medicine better?”

“I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.”

“Liquid then. I’ll get some soup too. Don’t go around infecting anyone else.”

She mumbled something at that, but even Katniss wasn’t quite sure what point she was trying to get across.

Toronto, Ontario

January 10, 2016

Local Time: 4:55 PM

She loved those green lights. They should make all the lights green. Then the cars could go faster because they’d never have to stop, and all the people would be happy because they spent more time with their families and less time driving. Lots of good things were green. In fact, she couldn’t’ think of a single bad green thing. Money, trees, kale, those rain boots she’d been eyeing at Target since last winter… they should make everything green. It would be nicer that way. “Don’t you think so?”

“Don’t I think what?”

“That everything should be green.”

Peeta shook his head. “I think you’re a lot less coherent on cold medicine than you led me to believe. I don’t have any strong opinions on the color green.”

“That’s too bad.” Peeta had a green sweater that made his arms look fantastic. Maybe she could convince him to wear it more often.

He had other things on his mind. Peeta’s voice dropped. “Look, we’re going to have you lip sync tonight, all right? Haymitch has a tape of your part on all our songs, and all you’ll need to do is mouth along with the words and pretend to play your guitar.”

“Okay.” She hated lip syncing, but it was hard to be upset about things right now. Why think about the bad things when there was so much green?

Toronto, Ontario

January 10, 2016

Local Time: 7:21 PM

The wiggles went through her entire body when she tried to shake the nerves out, tickling enough that she giggled out loud. Her fingers felt fat and sluggish as they danced over her guitar. The object was so familiar that it might have been another limb, but holding it now, it could just as easily have come from another planet. The weight was off, the balance just not there, and when had the strings gotten so little? No matter. She’d made it through three songs. She could handle two more before she went backstage and conked out.

‘Mockingjay’ shouldn’t be too bad. The first chords were easy. It started nice and slow, perfect for beginners and heavily-medicated Katnisses, before picking up speed. She knew what she was doing. Same thing, just faster, and faster, and faster, and then –

She realized an instant too late that this was her verse. Her eyes widened, and she did her best to start mouthing along, but the damage had been done. Whispers from the crowd rolled over her in waves, and it was all she could do to not cry on stage.

They struggled through that next number. She gave it everything she had – so not much – but she couldn’t sell it. Because of her fuck up, both of them would be in the papers tomorrow. They’d never have a successful album. Hell, they might not even be able to record an album. Nobody would invite them on tour again. Peeta might be able to go back to his old career, but maybe not. Opportunities dried up quickly in this business, which she knew better than anyone.

Katniss fell apart as soon as she got backstage. “Katniss, hey, it’s no big deal. I should have told Finnick you couldn’t go on. I’m so sorry.” Peeta’s words burned like acid over fresh wounds. He knew what she had ruined, and here he was, comforting her. If she was going to wreck something for someone, why couldn’t she pick some awful person who kicked puppies or something? Why did it have to be the nicest, sweetest man she’d ever been lucky enough to meet? Haymitch was right. “Katniss, I’m really –“

She kissed him. “Shut up.” Another one, this time harder – and now that he had gotten over his initial shock, he responded. Peeta dragged her close, pressing her tight against his chest. One hand found her waist, and the other toyed with the ends of her braid. His heartbeat was going nuts, but so was hers, so she supposed that was fair, and she –

“Hey, you two have a dressing room for that.” Peeta pulled away, and she turned to glare at Haymitch. He wouldn’t be cowed so easily. “Hey, if you don’t want to start damage control right now, I’m gonna enjoy the concert.”

“It’s okay, Katniss.” Peeta pulled her into their shared dressing room. “It’ll be okay, all of it. I promise.”

The worry swelled over her again. “You can’t promise that.”

“We can avoid the internet for a couple days. It’ll blow over.”

She closed her eyes and nuzzled up against his chest. “Maybe.” At least he smelled nice. Small consolation, but she’d take what she could get.

He kissed the top of her head. “Either way, we can’t do anything about it now.”

Another thought came to her. “I’m sorry if I gave you the flu.” Because she just couldn’t stop screwing up today, could she?

“Hey, it’ll make it easier to not go online, right?” he laughed. Then his voice dropped. “But since I’m already infected, I suppose there’s not anything to keep me from kissing you again, is there?”

She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down to her level.

Boston, Massachusetts

October 11, 2028

Local Time: 7:31 PM

She’d been convinced that it was Haymitch who always edited the “Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark” page on Wikipedia, but in the two years since his death, it continued to change. Every week, some new, strange story popped up that managed to keep the basic outline of their story the same while putting them into the strangest circumstances. She rather liked this one, a fairy-tale themed story involving dragons (poor Effie), a knight in shining armor, and herself as the beautiful princess trapped in the castle of studio work while she longed to be out among the people. Pity it had to go.

She copied and pasted the short version of the group’s history into editing window and hit ‘submit’. Nowhere near as interesting, but at least there were no beheadings in this version.

Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark are an American folk-rock duo. Since the two artists began collaborating in 2015, they have released four studio albums and toured extensively. Though best known in the United States for their first single, ‘Mockingjay,’ and a lip-syncing controversy that occurred during a televised Finnick Odair performance, the duo has achieved great critical and commercial success in northern Europe. They are most popular in Sweden, where their third studio album ‘Girl on Fire’ held the number one chart position for thirty-one weeks between 2021 and 2022. The duo began dating shortly after meeting in 2015 and married on June 11, 2017 in Mellark’s hometown of Boston, Massachusetts. They are parents to three adopted children: Aster Mellark (born 2019), Rye Mellark (born 2024), and Senna Mellark (born 2026). In September of 2028, Everdeen and Mellark released dates for their Everlark tour, their ninth world tour, with dates across Europe and East Asia.

Only when she was reading it through for the second time did she notice that she’d forgotten to delete the prankster’s last line. Katniss smiled. She highlighted it, and her finger hovered over the backspace key, but she couldn’t bring herself to get rid of it.

And they lived happily ever after.

After all, who was she to argue with the truth?

So sorry I posted this early on Ao3 and FFN. I promise that I can count. Don’t take away my math degree.

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Yeah, I know, another one of these posts.So we have season 1, a well crafted story focusing essentially on how 3 groups solve a mystery and realize things and deal with things in their own waykids (Mike, eleven, dustin, lucas, Will (a fantastic group with great chemistry I must say)) by using fantasy and magic, while they surprisingly end up being right the whole time. They’re out to find their friend no matter what the adults do. They operate in secrecy. It’s extremely nostalgic for me personally from being a kid. Mike and eleven. Holy shit. The chemistry is unbelievable. Probably one of my favorite duos in any TV show. The build up of them caring about each other and basically falling in love, only to have Eleven leave in the end. Truly amazing.teens (steve, nancy, johnathon) taking things into their own hands, being rebels. Similar to the kids but with more complicated elements (similar to being a teen).Adults (Hopper, joyce) by using the logical approach of adulthood and emotional approach at the same time (joyce trying to find her boy). Joyce’s emotional distress in that season was heart wrenching, and so well written. We don’t get nearly the same quality in season 2.We get to season 2, and mike and eleven (the main part of season 1, arguably the 2 most main and important characters) are basically no where to be found. They start using them as comic relief characters and focus on the whole dustin and steve thing, which worked better in season 1 as supportive roles. They then finally reunite Mike and El in the second to last episode and expect us to feel the same About them. They lost so much momentum with those two. Whenever I watch season 1 I feel like i’m watching 2 completely different characters.In season 1, El was ruthless but it was justifiable. She was smart and sensitive. She knew things the adults didn’t. Her powers she used for her love for Mike and his friends.In season 2, she’s just a psychopath. She’s completely out of character and so is mike. Like I said, it’s like watching 2 different TV shows with different characters. The episode 7 thing was also dumb as hell. Why does she need her sister to tell her why she should be angry? Eleven KNOWS this. She was taken from Mike, her mom got hurt from the same people that hurt her, she was abused her whole life, she wants to be normal but can’t. Shouldn’t she fucking know she has a right to be angry? She has already killed before. The whole episode is just shit writing and is a good reflection on the overall quality of season 2.Basically, season 2 becomes a Steve and dustin show while mike and el are put on the back-burner until the end, for a very weak reunion. They got like 10 minutes if that of screen time together the entire season, more like 5 minutes. What the actual fuck? What were they thinking? Also, the whole group was seperated the entire season, which was the thing that made season 1 so great and unique.Now in season 3 they want to add even more characters (Maxine ruined the groups chemistry in my opinion) and take away even more screen time. Sounds like they’re going to focus on Lucas or something. That kid (other than maxine now) is like the least interesting of the group.Season 1 played like a long movie, and you can absolutely tell it was originally supposed to end at the end of season 1. You can tell it was originally written as a stand alone. Season 2 was just not as well crafted. Sigh.. damn. I miss that feeling of season 1. Actually get depressed thinking about it.Here’s to a better season 3, but I doubt season 1 could ever be topped, as it was written as a stand alone to begin with. via /r/StrangerThings

[insert-witty-comment]

Sorry I missed yesterday, hopefully I can keep a more regular pace, things have just been rather chaotic for me lately....I'm going to be doing absolutely nothing for most of January too, I should have started this then, if I had been thinking ahead at all.He’s got it in the trap, I know it XDYes!Dustin’s mom reminds me of mine. :/Yurtle the Turtle! Best name ever.Yeah, what the hell is that thing.Don’t feed it after midnight DustyIt worries me that it looks like a tadpole. No way that thing doesn’t morph into something horrific.That thing is going to eat someoneThis is a terrible idea but I’m so happy he tried to make a pet out of the interdimensional alien thing. It’s going to be a disaster XDShe remembers Hop, right?That thing looks horrifying. Both of these people are going to get diabetes, they eat nothing but junk.She is a prisoner Hop, one with a terrifyingly accurate memory. This is really not cool.I’m not going to say Hop didn’t deserve that. I will say he maybe deserved the waffle in the face. Eleven is nicer than I am.The Bobmobile, of course.Librarian isn’t buying your shit DustinYou’re gonna get your library card revoked.Bob seems like the kind to have clown nightmares. He’s so hilariously vanilla.Telling a story about a clown dream like it’s the most dramatic thing that ever happened to him. It probably is.I bet she’s going to run straight to ask Will about it.Will is not going to be happy about bringing her into the Upside Down shenanigans.Like, he’s going to throw a major fit about it I bet, and he won’t be wrong either. Too soon to trust her with something like that.Hop thinks it was Eleven?Eleven looks a lot more grownup all of a sudden, in her jacket and such.So Hop used to play with Sarah here and is going all ptsd on Eleven over it. Not cool.Eleven looks rightfully disturbed by Hop’s dancing.Everybody’s a rebel this season.Steve you’re still kind of a dickDude who gets that intense about gym class.Dustin is very well read. How many people can name a Three Musketeer off the top of their head?Will knows exactly where it’s from. Why the others haven’t caught on yet I have no clue.Mike actually was cool with Max being there, or didn’t say anything about it at least, surprising. Probably because they didn’t realize that it was from the Other side.Joyce will totally murder some kids Bob, she’s not joking. Don’t tell her these things.Hop seems to know Science man isn’t a medical doctor… Makes me wonder if he realizes that Will is actually flashing over.I’m not ready for this to turn into a love triangle“what if I did mean it” I think you would know if you meant it NancyThe people directly responsible are dead, at least.Nancy I actually have no idea what you’re thinking right now. What’s going on?Hop should maybe have realized that a cleaned up and actually well-dressed Eleven can walk around fine and won’t draw any attention.Wow Hop you actually kept her away from her Mom? The one that was clearly kinda psychic too and watching Eleven through her static TV? Think maybe El could help her?I didn’t realize that Hop was reading from a book at first and thought he was giving the most matter-of-fact retelling of being orphanedEleven’s social skills need a whole lot of work. And her bluffing skills.Not being able to program a VCR is one thing, but Joyce apparently can’t even turn one on.Well that’s some weird shit.At least Joyce knows it’s real now.That poor science teacher has to deal with so much bullshitBilly is such a massive dick, oh my god. At least Steve had some charisma to redeem his dickishness.Max is pretty cool though, have to love anybody that picks locks.Dustin please try to remember that you were almost eaten last year.Do they listen to every call in Hawkins? She even got a new phone.Wonder what they’re going to do to her. : (Eleven knows Mike’s bike <3Mike watch your mouthThey just walked right past each other. If they don’t actually meet this episode I’ll be so sad.For a psychic she sure can’t find her way around. Maybe directions are their own power.Will is a wizard, not a cleric. I saw the drawings. Clerics don’t cast fireball.Max would be a good player. She’s totally a monk though. Like, drunken fist monk.Eleven why. They weren’t even doing anything that could look romantic.I was worried there that she would see part of the situation and misunderstand, and we would have that whole trope. But no, just Will and together Girl is enough for her to freak. I guess it makes sense, she’s still not exactly socially developed. I’m still pissed about it thoughOf course Will found it. Dude’s a total weirdness magnet.Do not take Bob’s advice. Bob gave you very bad advice for this situation.Dustin that thing is going to eat your faceNevermind, it’s going to eat the top of your head.No. Run. No ground standing.What the hell is it doing to him?THAT IS NOT AN OK PLACE TO STOPSo, the near-miss between Will and Eleven. On one hand, I really hate this trope, where person X only has part of the story and decides they suddenly hate person Y they had been all over before or just freak out and run away. On the other hand, they did a lot better job here justifying it with the character's personality that is usual. It makes sense Eleven would have no idea how to deal with this. So I'm not like pissed off about it or anything, but I wish they would have done something else instead.Come to think of it, the drama with Steve and Nancy right now is a play on the same thing, though a much more tolerable version.Nancy by the way, that girl is going to get herself in so much trouble. And she just got the Hawkins people focused on their family again when Eleven is starting to come back -_-Hopper has some serious personal issues he's been taking out on Eleven in a way that is really not ok. If he had been arranging some way for her to socialize, she would be in a much better place right now. She doesn't even know how to deal with basic questions from strangers without starting to throw psychic shit everywhere. At the same time, I feel like he is really trying and just doesn't understand what he's been doing to her. I can't figure out why he didn't bring in Joyce to help. She knows about this stuff, is friendly with him, and is a good parent.Anyway, overall I really enjoyed this episode. I'm not the biggest fan of the way they did the drama between Mike and Eleven, but Everything else in the episode I really loved.Oh, Dustin though, that boy is in serious trouble. He's gone all wrong-genre savvy and thinks he's Elliot from E.T. but he's actually Seymour from Little Shop of Horrors. via /r/StrangerThings