#you wanna spend one day climbing in ceilings and the next bending pipe??

[icehot13]

Chapter six of Stillness!

my laptop's charging port has tragically broken, so brought to you by my phone, a bluetooth keyboard, and my fierce determination to ruin konig's life

(CLYDE IS FINALLY HERE, and i love him as much as ever. homeboy is trying his absolute best to pull together a rugby team, and in every verse, he is cursed with meeting huge dudes who have Z E R O ability to play rugby. oh, clyde, how you suffer).

[ajbwasntwriting]

Daughter!Reader X Negan, Reader x Daryl: Chapter 8. Civil Unrest

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For all intents and purposes this is filler so the next chapter will be up in the next few minutes

I’ll only post more chapters if previous chapters get a good reaction so if you enjoy this please heart it, reblog it, and/or reply to it. Interaction inspires.

if you wish to be added to the tag list please dm me. All chapters can be found under the tag AJ’s Negan’s Daughter AU

In a few days you were up on your feet, your need to survive driving your fast recovery. As soon as you could sit up without nearly fainting and you could bend your fingers without much pain you started taking patients. Mainly burns and cuts. You kept your head down while working, adding to your intimidating reputation. They didn’t realise you were just trying to conceal yourself while looking for familiar faces. You rarely left the medical bay, even when it was icy cold.

Carol checked on you regularly, seemingly incredibly concerned for you. It almost pained you to suspect her to be out to get you. Luckily she seemed convinced that because you had been alone for so long that you’d take a long time getting used to the walls. Maybe she figured out that you were just biding time for leaving again.

“Are you okay?” Laura pulled you from your thoughts. You looked up suddenly, nodded, and went back to your reading. All these patient profiles from the previous physician were thorough. “Why would Emmett be this detailed with extremely basic medical care” you tought, then again he was a captive here just as much as you were. He probably had nothing better to do. “Are you sure? You look so serious.” She continued. You looked up to her. She was lying on one of the beds chewing on a piece of hard plastic. Having to keep a watch on ‘The New Doc’ would’ve been extremely boring.

“Just a lot of reading” you sat up and stretched your arms, not realising how long you had sat hunched over the hand-written pages. “Doctors have horrible handwriting and this guy sure likes to drag his point out”

“How bad is it?” She asked. You lifted the profile of another patient and followed along with your finger.

“The left Thenar has suffered tremendous infliction resulting in the loss of elasticity and possible avulsion of the tissue” You read aloud in a dramatic voice

“What?” Laura said, taking the plastic out of her mouth for a moment

“He pulled the muscle in his thumb, possibly tearing it” you flopped the paper down, rubbing your forehead.

“And all those pages are full of that shit” Laura pressed. You sighed with a nod.

“I never thought I’d be grateful to have done AP english.” you sighed

“Okay smart ass no need to show off” Laura chuckled, chewing on the plastic again.

“Please,” you sat back in the chair “My old man made me do it. ‘You already speak english so it should be a breeze’ he said”

“Those kind of parents?”

“You’re familiar?”

“Yep” Laura sat up, hunching over her now crossed legs. “My dad was a lawyer. Mom was an accountant. They kept pushing me to over achieve”

“Bet they weren’t happy with that” you spoke, pointing to your neck to reference Laura’s tattoo. Her hand went over it instinctively.

“I had already skipped town with my boyfriend before I got this.” She laughed. The smile melted away as she slowly stroked her neck. “Hadn’t seen them since. Probably dead.”

The room got a lot more quiet. It was crazy to think you both were so close in age but had gone through so much hell in the same world. But Laura was a saviour. You were Negan’s kid. If you were to be friends it would have to be at an arm’s reach.

The momentum changed when Carol arrived in, holding a small tray with cookies on them. The smell told you they were fresh. Your heart wanted to tell her to get out, but those cookies smelled too damn good.

“How’s the hard work going ladies.” she spoke with a cheery voice, setting the tray down in front of you. You were on it instantly. You took a cookie with you as you limped over to lock the door to the medical bay. “Any news?” Carol whispered

Carol had asked you and Laura to investigate the uprising of Negan supporters in the Sanctuary. Well, mainly Laura since she would know more people in Carol’s eyes. The payment, cookies. Though Laura would probably do it for free. She enjoyed the new peace that came with being aligned with the other settlements.

“Just the usual hot-heads” Laura sighed. You limped back to your chair.

“They like to complain to me.” you gently sat down. You’d only been back walking without the full splint for a couple days now but the clunky half splint on your lower leg wasn’t exactly walker friendly. “‘You should’ve seen how great we were when Negan was running the place’ and other shit”

“What do you think of it?” Carol asks you seriously. You suck the sugar off your fingers happily.

“He mustn’t have been that good if he’s not in charge anymore.”

They had their little meeting then as Carol was leaving you piped up,

“How��s the bridge team?”

“No.” Carol retorted quickly as if speaking to a child. “You are not going out there how many times do I have to tell you.”

“I could help-”

“You’re needed here Y/N” she spoke firmly.

“Yes, mom.” you groaned from your chair, earning a laugh from Laura. Carol left quickly.

“Why do you wanna join the bridge team so badly?” Laura asked through a mouthful of cookie.

“I miss the fresh air, I guess” and there’s more chances to get away from you all.

That evening you were restless. Normally it was the pain that kept you up late but it also exhausted you. You got out of the medical bed you’d claimed as your own, one of three that outfitted the med bay. You limped your way out of the medbay, not bothered if you woke Laura. The bathroom was down the hall so she would just assume you had to pee, especially since you had taken the torch dedicated to midnight bathroom visits. Being the medic gave you the luxury of a torch instead of matches and a candle.

It hurt to climb up so many stairs, with both your wounds and the cold seeping into your skin, but you’d be tired by the time you came back down anyway. You walked onto what used to be Negan’s floor. Your ‘family’s’ floor. You’d wanted to see it for a while now, out of curiosity more than anything else.

You first went to your father’s room. Pushing the door open you felt a burst of cold air whip around you viciously. The room has been stripped of its furnishings, right down to the carpets. Taken away to be burned most likely. The windows were shattered, the bullet holes in the ceiling giving away the method. It was so completely devoid of any sign of human life one would say it always had been. You closed the door and continued onto the parlour where the wives would spend their day. This room didn’t have windows but the room was still completely void of any of the glamour that once adorned it. The only remnants was the wall paper which was peeling off due to the damp.

The image of the forgotten rooms didn’t stir emotion in the way you thought they would. You imagined getting overwhelmed with emotion, but you felt nothing. No that wasn’t right, you felt a loss. Not a loss of the grandeur you had gotten to enjoy in captivity, not a loss of the fake smiles from your many ‘mothers’. You felt a loss of your father. You mourned the man you had called your father, and the idea that all that was left of the memory of him were these halls where cowards bowed to him. You felt an overwhelming realisation that the man you called ‘Pops’ had died long before ‘Negan’ formed.

Your final destination was your room. You figured it would also be empty but your room was a bit away, down the end of a hall few knew how to get too. You’d had more roaches as visitors than people. Your father had chosen it for you so the ‘common nobodies’ wouldn’t see you easily, another measure to keep you safe.

It also worked the other way as you round the corner and see a light coming from what used to be your room. The hall was lined with offices and storage rooms you knew you could dive into if someone appeared so you turned off your light and walked down the hall gingerly on your feet. You were now only a couple feet away from the door when you heard voices coming from the end of the hall, from what used to be your room.

“I still can’t believe they put this bitch here to keep an eye on us. That fucking redneck was an ass but atleast he didn’t pretend to be all fucking nice”

“It’s probably a play to get us to relax. They’ve got us locked in this factory and don’t give us nearly enough food, and they won’t let us go to the other settlements”

“We’re prisoners. They said they only wanted to lock up Negan but now we’re all starving.”

“Enough of your bitching.”

They went on to talk about how many people were on their side and their efforts to get weapons. They clearly had no idea you were listening. After all, what kind of idiot is gonna climb up over ten floors for no reason. Other than sentiment perhaps. It sounded like there were about four people in the room, but they spoke like they had a few under their influence. They were looking for weapons and a means to get back at ‘Rick and his posse’.

“We’ll bring them that bitch Carol’s head on a spike for them.”

“What about the bridge? We got people working there for food.”

“And then what? They’re just gonna keep extorting us for slave labour or let us starve.”

You were so drawn in by their words that the door opening startled you. You charged from your spot into an open room, a storage closet of a sort. You knew it was too risky to close the door so you stood against the wall next to the door. They walked along the hall bantering loudly. You sidestepped deeper into the room, knocking something with your foot making a loud metal sound. The voices stopped and you instantly froze, holding your breath like your life depended on it. A light shun into the closet, then the other way.

“Probably just a rat” one of the voices spoke. “We can set some traps and stew it for dinner”.

They continued down the hall, their steps growing faint a minute or so later. The adrenaline began to subside and the pain from the recent strain on your leg made itself very apparent. You stepped out of the closet and walked down the hall to your old room. Maybe they left some evidence you could use to barter for your freedom.

You opened the door to your room, only illuminated by the moonlight coming from the window. Unlike the other rooms, your room hadn’t been completely ransacked. The mattress had been taken off the frame but the metal skeleton remained as well as the rug under your bed. Other than that it appeared empty. You turned on your torch to get a better view.

On your bed frame lay what had to be near a hundred dead wild flowers. Your breath caught in your throat at the site. You moved and sat on the bed frame, the metal sending a chill up your body. You placed a hand on the dry stems and something hit the ground with a thump. You moved to look under the bed as quick as you could, reaching under the bed you cut yourself on something sharp. You moved your torch on it and grabbed it again, this time from a less dangerous end.

Under the bed you pulled out the knife that had your name engraved on it. The metal shun bright in the light as if lovingly polished until it’s inevitable abandonment. You hadn’t realized you had begun to cry until a tear fell onto the blade and began to fill the engraving.

~Tag List~

@bodeckersbitch @lauren-novak​ @aestthete

[artificialqueens]

Just Like a Folk Song (Our Love Will Be Passed On), 1/3 (Trixya) - Pinkgrapefruit

A/N -

hi! I’m really excited for this!!! I started it back in the summer of 2020 and it’s been a labour of love for sure. I was initially dead set on waiting for it to reach its end before I posted but I want someone who isn’t me and ortega to enjoy it. I’m so, so proud of it and I really hope you enjoy it so please let me know and maybe I’ll actually finish this one.

Thank you to Jaz, Ortega and Frey who have endlessly supported me, egged me on and corrected the minutia of my grammar. This one is for you xoxo

[chapter 1. pirate wives]

*

part one. joy

please picture me in the trees i hit my peak at seven feet in the swing over the creek i was too scared to jump in

There is a girl in the trees. She is blonde and messy, and her knees have scratches that Trixie’s mama would never allow. She clambers through the branches in her wellies, light as a feather until she’s straddling the edge of a thick branch, white teeth glistening in the mid-afternoon sun. Trixie is immediately jealous. She’s missing her two front teeth and although her mama straightens her dresses and tells her she’s very pretty - she’s not entirely convinced. The girl jumps down from the tree and hits the debris-littered floor with a soft thud. Her shoes are caked in mud and she runs a dirty hand through her hair in a way that makes Trixie’s skin crawl.

The day is warm, and Trixie’s mama had told her to spend it by the river near their flat. It’s overlooked by a wood, and the last man who pretended to be her daddy built a tire swing, so her and her brother could play down here when the sun makes it unbearable to be indoors.

The girl tilts her head and Trixie mirrors her, unsure. Her eyes are a crystalline green, the same colour as the lazy river, and she blushes as Trixie stares. The girl waves exuberantly.

“I’m Katya!” She introduces, pushing her hand forward for Trixie to shake. She sees her mama greet people like this, but it seems very strange. She cautiously moves her hand to meet it and they shake rather forcefully.

“Katya?” She repeats, almost a question, half-formed on her tongue.

“Yup! K-A-T-” she pauses, eyebrows scrunched as she tries to remember the next letter. The sun filters through the leaves, speckling her face with dots of light. “Y-A! Katya!”

Trixie giggles, cheeks flushing. She grips her pink corduroy dungaree dress, letting the soft fabric soothe her nerves. “My name is Beatrice,” she says, voice tight like a rope pulled taut. She is being polite. She is a good girl. Katya purses her lips, shuffling from one foot to another. “You can call me Trixie, though?”

Katya smiles, nods slightly. “I would like that, Trixie.”

She reaches out for Trixie to take her hand, and Trixie is slightly less hesitant this time. Katya’s smock blows in the slight breeze as she tugs Trixie forward, and the girl in the pink follows willingly.

but i, i was high in the sky with pennsylvania under me are there still beautiful things?

She ends up pulling her towards the tyre-swing and she holds Trixie’s cardigan as she wrestles up onto the tyre. Katya can only manage to push her for a few minutes before she wants her own turn, and Trixie makes her pull the swing as far back as she can, so there’s no chance she’ll end up in the river.

“How old are you?” Trixie asks as she holds the tyre patiently for Katya, who struggles in her wellies, despite being adept at climbing trees in them.

“I’m seven,” she announces proudly as she sits atop the tyre. She grips the rope tightly, so her fingers turn white and her brown smock is tucked under her thighs for grip. “My mama told me I look very old for my age.”

Trixie wouldn’t necessarily disagree. Katya looks bigger and certainly stronger than her. She is louder - more physical - and her hair is pretty. Trixie considers it all for a second.

“Okay,” she replies, pushing the swing gently, so its reflection ripples across the river. “I’m seven too.”

She pushes Katya gently for a few more minutes before Katya pipes up again. She’s more relaxed, fingers only barely hanging onto the rope.

“Do you have a boyfriend, Trixie?” The question makes Trixie squirm almost as much as the fact that Katya is now trying to hang upside-down above the river.

She gulps her anxiety down. “No,” she tells her, “I don’t really want one.”

Katya looks at her from upside down and smiles brightly. “boys are gross, Trixie,” she tells her sternly as if she’s had experience. She is steady in her convictions, and Trixie finds this admirable - she’s not sure if she has convictions.

Katya’s smock comes loose from under her thighs and Trixie looks away in shock as it exposes her almost naked body. Katya just giggles, her stomach expanding with laughter as she tries to grip with her legs and pull herself back up, so she is no longer exposed.

She twists her body slightly and manages to jump off the swing and onto the ground, watching as Trixie winces.

Katya puts her arms in the air. “I’m fine, look,” she tells her reassuringly. Curving her fingertips slightly she smiles. “RAWR!”

She chases Trixie through the horse fields until they end up on a street full of little stone cottages with flower boxes under the windows. Trixie stops when her mary janes hit the concrete and looks quizzically at Katya who’s stopped at a green door. She beckons for her to follow, and Trixie does.

sweet tea in the summer cross your heart, won’t tell no other and though i can’t recall your face i still got love for you

Katya’s sister Anna is sitting in the living room with a jug full of sweet tea and ice that makes Trixie drool just thinking about it. She smiles, offering them plastic cups full of the sugary liquid that Trixie happily gulps down after hours in the woods. She goes to slip her shoes off by the door, but Katya waves her hand. “Keep ‘em on.”

Trixie shrugs and follows the messy blonde up a flight of wooden stairs into a little red room. It has a bed pushed up to the wall and a set of gymnastic rings that come down from the ceiling. Katya places her cup down on the nearest flat surface as Trixie cradles hers in her hands, and launches herself at the rings.

Trixie is astounded that Katya can push herself off the ground, arms locked straight. She jumps down and grabs the shorts off the bed, pulling them on (somewhat awkwardly) over her wellies. Trixie watches in wonderment, fixed in place on the carpet, so she doesn’t spread dirt as Katya swings around, flipping and tumbling, aided by the rings.

When she finally stops, they sit crossed-legged on the floor, sipping sweet tea.

“Will you be my best friend?” Trixie asks Katya sweetly - her tongue coated in tea and her body energised from the most fun she’s ever had. She picks at the lace on the top of her socks while Katya considers her offer.

“I can do that,” she tells her, voice earnest and honest.

“Deal. I think best friends braid each other’s hair.”

“That sounds good.”

your braids like a pattern love you to the moon and to saturn passed down like folk songs the love lasts so long

“You can move now!” Katya announces after a painfully long time. Trixie gently pats the neat rows of hair on her head - it’s tender, and she scrunches her face up in response. She finds herself jealous - Katya is much better at braiding than she is, but she promised to teach her on the hand-me-down styling mannequin she got from her sister Anna.

“You’re better than me,” she effuses, hand splayed on the soft fabric of Katya’s smock.

“Yeah, well you have freckles,” Katya retorts, and Trixie nods because she makes a good point. “You can’t have everything, Beatrice.”

Trixie chews on her lips. She feels freer in Katya’s bedroom, there are no ghosts in the cupboards or angry ladies drying the washing in the sun. “Can you call me Trixie?” She asks. “I liked that better.”

Katya jumps up, pulling Trixie up with her. The sun makes her red walls glow, and they reflect onto her blonde hair.

“Okay, Trixie, do you wanna go on an adventure?”

Trixie nods and they barrel out of the bedroom and down the stairs, which creak pleasantly with every thundering step. Katya tugs her round the bend at the bottom of the stairs so fast that Trixie almost slams into the wall, but eventually they find Katya’s mama, Seraphine, in the kitchen making a salad.

“We’re going on an adventure!” Trixie exclaims, and Seraphine chuckles at them, ruffling Katya’s hair until the blonde scowls.

“Okay girls, stay safe,” she tells them, and they nod earnestly. “Are you staying for dinner?” She asks Trixie, and Trixie shakes her head sadly.

“My mama told me to be home for six.”

Seraphine smiles warmly and moves, so they can exit through the back door. Katya’s house backs onto a horse field and it makes Trixie feel like a butterfly - all warm and free in the sun and she never really wants to go home.

Katya sticks her arms out like she could fly if only she had the lift, and they run around playing aeroplanes for a little while. Trixie’s scuffed mary janes let her socks get wet from the dew in the grass and it makes her feel like she is a part of nature.

Katya takes off her wellies and the ground squishes under her toes.

and i’ve been meaning to tell you i think your house is haunted your dad is always mad and that must be why

Katya walks Trixie home to the grey flats on the edge of the town. They tower high above the little cottages - a relic of a revolution long gone - and cast hazy shadows in the late afternoon sun. In the shadows, Katya’s hair looks dull and Trixie’s dress looks clean, and it makes the hairs on Trixie’s legs stand up as a breeze whistles under her skirt.

“You live here?” Katya asks and she doesn’t mean it to sound mean, but the words still crackle in Trixie’s ears like dying embers. She bristles, standing up tall and proud like she’s always been taught to.

“Yes, I do,” she tells Katya almost haughtily - trying to channel her mama. Her hands firm around the squish of her hips and she purses her lips.

Katya frowns. “I’m sorry,” she voices, chewing the inside of her cheek, fingers clinging together behind her. “It looks like ghosts live here.”

This makes Trixie laugh, it’s soft and ladylike because she’s a lady, which in turn makes Katya laugh - loud and raucous.

“Good-bye, Kat-y-a,” says Trixie, her mouth rounding over the syllables. “Katya.”

“Good-bye, my best friend Trixie,” replies Katya with a wave and a nod before she skips back up the path towards the streetlamps. She steps inside the building and heads up the stairs, knocking three times on the door.

“Why are your shoes scuffed, Beatrice?” Is her first greeting and she turns her toes in an attempt to hide them from her mama.

“The forest, Mama,” Trixie responds, calm and quiet. Her brother is watching from the couch and he sticks his tongue out at her with a kind smile. “I met a girl named Katya.”

Her mama scowls, face tight and eyes sharp. “You let a girl named Katya touch your hair?” She asks, almost mocking as she picks up a braid and lets it fall back onto Trixie’s back. She sighs. “Go get ready for dinner and wash your hands.”

“Yes, Mama,” Trixie tells her dutifully before running off to her bedroom. She places the bobbles Katya used in her hair in her jewellery box.

and i think you should come live with me and we can be pirates then you won’t have to cry or hide in the closet

They play pirates, skipping rocks on the river like cannonballs. Katya is Blackbeard with her macaroni necklace and her stolen clip-on earrings. She smiles sweetly and tells Trixie that she is Grace O'Malley, because she is pretty and male pirates were not pretty. Also because then they could have the best pirate wedding anyone has ever seen and this makes Trixie laugh so hard she accidentally throws her best skipping stone. Katya decides that she’s won, but she will share her treasure and they lay on the grass on the bank of the river.

Seraphine has been reading Katya a book on pirates, so the young girl parrots the information back to Trixie, who revels in the knowledge. She begs her brother Josh to read her that pirates books she’s borrowed from the library and the next day she comes back to the river and tells Katya that they are both women pirates.

“I am Grace O'Malley and you are Mary Reed,” she announces authoritatively. Katya frowns, head tilted so her blonde hair glows white in the sun.

“Can we still have the best pirate wedding though?” She asks, and Trixie squeezes her hand before jumping up.

“Of course!” She tells her like it is obvious. “We will just be pirate wives.”

Katya nods, because this makes perfect sense. “We will be pirate wives,” she consolidates. She pulls a stick out of the belt of her smock and holds it aloft. “TO BATTLE, PIRATE WIFE!” She screams so the horses in the next field are adequately prepared before running down the grassy bank, so her wellies get wet on the rocky shore of the river.

“To battle!” Trixie squeals, running after her with enthusiasm. She stops when the stones start because she doesn’t want to get her socks wet this time, but she watches as Katya jumps in the water.

'Best friend pirate wife,’ she turns over in her head. It sounds good.

and just like a folk song our love will be passed on

part two. discomfort

i want you to know i’m a mirrorball i’ll show you every version of yourself tonight

There’s only one middle school in the village. Its bricks are a rust-brown and rough like they’ve just been dug out of the ground. It used to be a factory town, so everything is covered in a thin layer of dirt and dust anyway, but this building manages to look particularly rugged. Trixie assumes the planters were at one point neat and trimmed, although they don’t seem to be anymore - wiry stems making their way up the walls. It’s not unwelcoming, Trixie just doesn’t really want to be there.

She pushes that down though, pulling her white long-socks back up past her knees and adjusting the way her backpack falls on her shoulders. She spots Katya loitering under the carefully positioned 'no loitering’ sign and smiles - picking up her pace so her mary-janes slip a little on the gravel-covered yard. Katya’s wrists are covered in the friendship bracelets they spent the summer weaving with Seraphine’s embroidery threads. She wears Trixie’s too - her mama threw the first one out with her brother’s holey socks.

They share a homeroom, and Katya makes sure they get two seats next to each other, the plastic chairs sweating in the late August heat. Trixie’s thighs stick to them against her will and she finds herself gently prying her thighs away from the seat every so often as Katya laughs in her loose jeans.

Katya has always been the one who preferred practical fashion. Her brown smocks have turned into tank tops and jeans, and she’s only eleven, but Trixie thinks she dresses a bit like the boys from Grease. They’re older. Maybe, by then, Trixie will look like a Pink Lady. That’s what she wants, anyway.

They write notes on each other’s pencil cases while Mr Thompson gives them a rather hasty personal health lesson. Trixie worries at one point that she’s missing important information about periods or nail varnish, but Katya tells her that Anna can just explain it all to them, so they go back to doodling hearts in the margins of their brand new notepads.

At one point, Trixie chances a look around the room, the walls are sparse and the paint peels, but there’s one poster that makes her tummy feel weird and she almost points it out to Katya, but the other girl is too busy making a paper plane.

The poster tells her homosexuality is a sin.

She wonders if pirate wives are exempt.

i’ll get you out on the floor shimmering beautiful and when i break it’s in a million pieces hush

In Biology, Katya is seated next to a boy named Maxwell. He’s Jewish and sweet enough, and they talk about his babushka’s chak-chak. Katya remembers the sweet, doughy treat from her times visiting her baba back in Russia, and she almost asks why his name doesn’t sound like hers, because he sounds awfully American even though he can pronounce her last name.

Most of the teachers can’t. It’s the third day and they’ve already resorted to Zamo. She’s too used to it to be hurt.

Mrs Dodds comes in through the teacher’s door and drops a textbook on the desk to get everyone’s attention. She’s a mousy sort of woman - light hair cut to a bob that stops at the nape of her neck. Her blazer is tweed and also oversized, and it reminds Katya of the jacket her dad wears to job interviews.

Dodds starts scratching her name onto the board in white chalk and the sound sends shivers down the class’s spines.

“Can anyone explain to me where humans came from?” She asks the room, and the eleven-year-olds cower from the cadence of her voice.

A brave girl called Monique waves her hand, but Dodd’s picks on a boy called Jaremi instead and he quivers under her gaze. “Sex?” He suggests, tone light like he’s walking on eggshells and all of the preteens burst into giggles. The poor boy turns the same shade as summer poppies, and Katya feels terrible. Unfortunately, her face must betray this because a crooked finger is pointed in her direction. She shifts awkwardly.

“Evolution,” she musters with enough confidence that it doesn’t sound like a question, and while the class looks vaguely impressed with her, Mrs Dodds does not. She scoffs.

“A fallacy,” she claims, stalking back to the chalkboard with her sleeves crumpled by her elbows.

The chalk scraped on the board, spelling out a word: God. Katya gulps. She’s pretty sure god didn’t make humans. They came from fish - at least that’s what her encyclopedia told her.

“God created humans,” she announces to them all, smiling faintly, “and it’s people like you, sinner,” she points at Katya again, “who make him regret it.”

when no one is around, my dear you’ll find me on my tallest tiptoes spinning in my highest heels, love shining just for you Hush

They square dance in gym class and even though there aren’t enough boys, the girls aren’t allowed to dance with each other, so Trixie ends up sat on the bench while Katya and Max twirl in circles - blatantly flaunting the teacher’s instruction. Her long black skirt is patterned with white skulls and flares prettily around her ankles, exposing her red Doc Martens.

Katya leads, stepping backwards while Max steps on her toes - his shorter stature making for quite the picture (one that makes Trixie snort into her elbow).

She is not jealous. Jealousy is too strong, what she feels is subtle - like pulling on her ribs, shifting them under her skin until her heart hurts. Her heart does hurt. Maybe she’s not used to Katya having other people, so what - they said they would stick together and they will. She is confident.

When the dance ends, Katya bows - waving her arm so it circles under her and allowing her messy hair to fall over her face before flicking it back dramatically. She smiles at Trixie, and Trixie smiles back for the split second before she is assigned to the tall, lanky boy at the back of the gym. His hands are clammy and damp and strangely cold, and Trixie tries to hold them as lightly as she can, confident that Katya’s would be softer, warmer.

The boy smells strange, his hair falls over his eyes, and he stutters when he talks to her, making a poor effort of leading her and standing on her feet more than she stands on his. The teacher doesn’t seem to care, too busy screaming at the blonde girl who refuses to dance with the boy who has eczema.

They dance in circles rather than squares and Trixie’s mind is running in triangles rather than circles.

i know they said the end is near but i’m still on my tallest tiptoes spinning in my highest heels, love shining just for you

Trixie finds herself giggling with the girls Katya called plastic in her English lesson. She doesn’t share it with Katya and she didn’t want to sit alone, so she positioned herself at the back with Gigi, Pearl, and Courtney, who don’t seem to have an appreciation for Keats, but then again neither does Trixie, unless Katya is reading it to her in the hammock behind the cottage.

Gigi is dating a hippie boy from the next town over. She refers to him as Crystal, and the other girls go along with it, so Trixie doesn’t ask. Pearl wants to smoke weed with the high school boys that hang around the skate park, but she’s promised her brother that she won’t until she’s fourteen. Courtney is from Australia. They seem interesting.

Trixie doesn’t understand why they’re plastic.

But Katya drags her by the arm out of school one day ranting about how they’d called her names like 'dyke’ for not having a boyfriend.

“Boys are dumb,” she’d told them proudly, “I don’t want one.”

“Boys are dumb,” Trixie agrees solemnly, sat on a wall near her flat as Katya paces. She kicks a stone into the road and watches it skitter to a halt before sitting next to Trixie with a huff. “Sometimes girls are dumb too,” Trixie reminds gently, and Katya puts her head on her shoulder.

“You’re not dumb,” Katya tells her, “I don’t understand why they have to be.” She sounds so dejected that Trixie wants to bundle her up in blankets and make hot cocoa until she’s smiling again.

“Welcome to the real world. It sucks. You’re going to love it,” Trixie quips, and it does make Katya chuckle at her best friend’s antics.

“You did not just quote friends at me,” she jokes, pressing a finger into the softness of Trixie’s side. Trixie jumps off the wall in shock as Katya cackles to herself and sticks her tongue out.

“I hate you,” she tells her, smiling widely.

“I hate you too.”

i want you to know i’m a mirrorball i can change everything about me to fit in

They walk the final stretch to Trixie’s flat, hands swinging between them. Katya’s hand is clammy, but it is warm, and it grounds Trixie’s thoughts from where they are spinning. She knows people can be horrid, her brother once told her that 50% of the town is assholes and 50% is assholes you can deal with, but knowing and realising are two different things, and maybe she just hadn’t realised.

She doesn’t mean to be, but she’s more careful from then on. She giggles with boys and she doesn’t really hold Katya’s hand outside of the woods and the fields, where they are free to be whatever they want. And maybe she wants to hold Katya’s hand. Maybe.

There is a boy called Ben who hangs around the library. He seems sweet and small and kind, and she sits at his table while she tries to work out algebra. He plays baseball, but he mostly paints and makes jokes, so everyone seems to like him and Trixie admires that.

She appreciates the non-judgemental silence as she struggles over Pythagoras one evening. Katya is at art club, and Trixie doesn’t feel like having to do the work in the flat where the heating is broken, so she bundles herself up in the library and watches Ben eat a chocolate muffin over the top of his book. He smiles warmly at her and offers a chunk, which she takes gladly - savouring the way it seems to melt in her mouth.

"That’s good,” she mutters appreciatively, mouth full and all too aware of the watchful eye of the librarian.

“I made them!” Ben responds, his cheeks flushing with excitement.

“And they’re not going to poison me?” Trixie asks as he offers her a full one from a Tupperware in his bag. He sticks his tongue out, shaking his head, before ducking down as the librarian looks their way.

you are not like the regulars the masquerade revellers drunk as they watch my shattered edges glisten

“I think Ben has a crush on me,” Trixie postures, approaching it slowly like one approaches a kitten stuck on a road. Katya, in many ways, is comparable to a scared kitten - whether it be her anxious quiver or the mess of her hair - soft, but tangled in a knot on her head.

Katya’s eyebrow quirks, though her mouth stays set. “I thought we said boys are dumb?” She tells Trixie firmly, feet planted in the damp October soil.

Trixie shifts her toes on the crunching leaves and the noise ripples through the forest.

“They are,” she agrees, quietly, “I don’t want one.” She feels like she’s having to defend herself and she doesn’t really know why. Her cheeks prickle red with heat.

Katya scowls, and Trixie’s quivers on instinct before pulling her shoulder back and standing up straight. The clouds rolling overhead seem greyer, but maybe that’s just a trick of the light.

“You can’t control who I’m friends with, Kat,” she advocates, the telltale signs of anger slipping into her tone as the pitch heightens with every word. She pulls the sleeves of her jumper over her palms so she can feel a little sense of security, and Katya’s face softens.

“I know,” Katya sighs. She falls down onto a log, brushing some of the bark off the edges. She shifts as it scrapes her legs through her trousers, but eventually settles, looking mournful. “I just don’t want to lose you.”

Trixie holds her hands in her own, feeling the clammy warmth.

“I promise you won’t.”

hush

part three. comfort

when you are young, they assume you know nothing

Trixie is fourteen, holding hands with Ben as they eat ice creams from the parlour down the street. Ben dots some of his onto her nose, and she flushes pink and flustered as he wipes it off with the pad of his thumb. He’s grown taller, face chiselling ever so slightly, although his cheeks remain doughy and soft. She has to refrain from imprinting her fingertips into the pale flesh just to watch it bounce back. She’s grown into herself, breasts growing until her mama had to take her to the department store, an hour away, to buy training bras in sizes larger than the local shops have in stock.

She blushes and goes back to her ice cream, the strawberry sauce dripping into her knuckles so she has to run her tongue along them, leaving only the faint hint of pink food-colouring trailing across her hand.

He presses his lips to her cheek, tongue skimming the tip of her soft serve on the way, and grins like a Cheshire cat. She relents, placing her lips on his for a peck, and his lips taste like chocolate sauce. It’s sweet.

It took her a few years to finally accept his constant asking her out, but they spent ninth grade canoodling in the library, hand swinging between them and lips pressed to each other’s cheeks. It’s nice.

The girls she changes with for gym class tell her she must be in love, but she’s always thought that love would feel more like fireworks rather than popping candy. It’s pleasant. She doesn’t know if she should want more.

but i knew you dancin’ in your levi’s drunk under a streetlight, i

Ben wanted more. He dumps her for Kelly Mantle, a drama student famed for giving Brian McCook a blowjob behind the smoker shelter.

She cries into Katya’s paint-splattered denim jacket, the blonde’s fingers worming their way around the fullness of her hips until Katya’s holding her.

Trixie sobs in hiccups, and Katya’s sorrow rolls in waves. She’s held the girl so many times in their friendship, but they swore it would never be over a boy. And now Trixie is clinging to her like a liferaft in the ocean and Katya cannot help but pull her ashore.

Katya guides her over to the blanket she’d thrown on the warm grass, and they collapse onto its cushioning. Katya holds her until all her sobs muffle into croaks, and then there is silence.

They eventually roll onto their backs, Katya’s arm resting under the nape of Trixie’s neck, and although she’s losing feeling in her fingers - she wouldn’t move it for the world. The sun is warm, bright and even across their exposed stomachs in crop tops that Anna gave them when her chest grew too large. Katya’s hangs limply, but Trixie’s is stretching to her body and moves gently with each breath. Katya could watch the hypnotic movements until the sunset.

The river at the bottom of the verge babbles softly. There’s a heron in it, tall and proud and searching eagerly for fish. Its beak hooks into the water and it pulls out a flapping anchovy - or so Katya tells her, fingertips painting the words into the skyline.

Sometimes Trixie feels like the heron, but most days, she supposes, she is the anchovy. She is only fourteen, but life is harder than she thought it would be. Heartbreak hurts more. Making daisy chains with a lifelong friend soothes the pain a little.

i knew you hand under my sweatshirt baby, kiss it better, i

The rips in Katya’s Levi’s let the grass brush her calves. She longs to pull Trixie up, drag her around on the grass till they’re dancing, but the sun is starting to burn orange on the horizon line and Trixie’s mam has never been one for letting her off curfew.

She tugs the blonde up, sleepy and satiated - brushes a thumb along the redness of her under-eyes. Trixie adorns her with a flower crown and in the headiness of the sunset, Katya blushes.

The sky goes from naphthol red to quinacridone. Trixie swings their hands together as they take the long road home. Their path is shaded by the trees, and a breeze causes goosebumps to appear all up her arms, so she tugs her sweatshirt on, and Katya carefully pulls her hair out of the back for her. She whispers something, but it is lost to the whistling of the leaves.

Sometimes Katya wishes they could go back to playing pirates. They could be pirate wives and gallivant about the woods, waving their sticks up high and pretending that they could always go home to each other. It would be easier, she muses, easier than enduring school with girls who call her a dyke and a lesbo and tell her not to look at them in gym class, when, really, she gets ready facing the corner. Pirate wives would be fanciful, but lovely nonetheless.

The softness of their footsteps stops as they reach the path to Trixie’s. It’s gravely and it crunches underfoot, but the streetlights cast shadows that make Katya yearn to dance with Trixie once more.

She gives in this time, pulling the younger girl into her arms so they can mock-waltz, imagining the streetlamps as spotlights and maybe their friendship as something more.

Katya’s hand slips onto the fullness of Trixie’s hip again, her skin hot under her cold palm.

“You’re my favourite,” Katya whispers, lips brushing the flyaways from Trixie’s ponytail. She cannot see the blonde blush, but she squirms a little in Katya’s arms and it makes her smirk.

“And you’re mine.”

and when i felt like i was an old cardigan under someone’s bed you put me on and said i was your favorite

They kiss under that streetlight.

It may be the first, but it’s the sweetest and the quickest and the kindest too - lips brushing like a promise. Trixie can’t say what she’s promising, but she’s pretty sure she’d promise her life away just to taste cola off Katya’s tongue again.

a friend to all is a friend to none chase two girls, lose the one when you are young, they assume you know nothing

part four. deception

make sure nobody sees you leave hood over your head, keep your eyes down tell your friends you're out for a run you’ll be flushed when you return

Katya pads quietly along the line - her socks not quite keeping out the 3am chill. She’ll have to wait until she’s out of the door to put her worn converse back on - the squeak of the soles bound to wake the whole flat up. She resists the urge to skid - knowing she’ll hit the front door with a thud that Trixie will struggle to pretend is the wind. It’s a calm night.

She’s left Trixie in bed - the duvet twisted around her recumbent form like a snake. She wishes, for a second, to turn around and snuggle back into the warmth of Trixie’s side. To sling a leg back over the plush of her thigh and rest her head on Trixie’s chest.

Cuddling, she decides, is god’s divine creation. And so is Trixie.

She manages to avoid the creaking floor panel in front of Mama Mattel’s bedroom door, hugging the wall opposite just to make it out unscathed.

She locks the door with the key Trixie gifted to her over summer - pressed at a locksmith two towns over. Mr Lackerty in the village centre would have asked too many questions. Trixie paid for it with her allowance, stealing change from her Mama to take the bus there and back. She’d gifted it to her in a little shoebox stuffed with pulled-apart tissue. Katya has cried.

Slipping on her shoes in the hall outside, she sighs in both relief and sadness. She leaves quickly.

take the road less travelled by tell yourself you can always stop what started in beautiful rooms ends with meetings in parking lots

Trixie shifts on the wooden desks - hoping her skirt won’t be covered in chalk and graphite when she gets up. She’s watching Katya, dark eyes trained on crystalline green, and Katya smiles up at her before focusing back on her canvas. Her tongue pokes out when she does something she deems good, her eyebrows scrunching in concentration.

The art room is empty except for the two of them and by the silence of the corridor outside, lunch isn’t over just yet. They’re safe.

It’s like their own little sanctuary, Katya with her paints and Trixie with her Katya. She gently brushes the girl’s fringe back whenever it looks in danger of getting messy - there’s already a streak of pink across the bridge of her nose, but Trixie doubts she’s noticed.

She starts humming to herself, an old song that she’s heard through the walls of the flat, and Katya looks up at her.

“You should sing more Trix,” she tells her, ever so earnest.

“You think?” Trixie tucks her hair behind her ears, eyes twinkling at the compliment.

“I do,” she muses, turning back to the painting so she can put a final stroke in place before she tugs on the edge of Trixie’s skirt.

Trixie brushes a hand at her, hoping there won’t be painted fingerprints on the corduroy before coming to stand behind Katya. She wraps her hands around her waist and balances her chin on Katya’s shoulder before finally allowing her eyes to fall on the canvas.

It’s the river. Their river.

And they’re on the banks.

Together.

and that’s the thing about illicit affairs and clandestine meetings and longing stares

Trixie turns sixteen in February. Her birthday is celebrated by the world even if they don’t realise it, pink hearts adorning every establishment in town. She spends the day with Courtney, as Pearl is smoking weed with her boyfriend from city college. He’s a forty-minute bus ride away on a good day, but Pearl says the sex is good, and Trixie just blushes softly because she shouldn’t know what Pearl is talking about, but she does.

She’s okay with it, though, spending the day without Pearl. She and Courtney get smoothies from the 'healthy’ diner that Courtney’s been going on about and talk about boys, and Trixie makes up most of her opinions, but that’s okay.

She decides that she’ll be attracted to Mathew because he’s tall and he’s got the same cheekbones, as Katya so she can just talk about that. Courtney’s raving about this guy called Danny that she wants to be friends with (make out with), apparently he’s in a band and he sings, and that makes Courtney positively ravenous for him.

They part ways after Courtney gives her the charm bracelet she and Pearl bought. It’s silver and has a little heart charm on it, but Courtney tells her not to worry, they can buy more.

It jingles, but it’s not as comfortable as the woven friendship bracelets she and Katya made when they were eleven.

Katya meets her by the river and they walk through the woods hand in hand till they reach the clearing where she’s laid out a picnic blanket.

They lay on it together, looking up at the sky and holding hands through their gloves.

“We met here,” Katya ponders, as she allows herself to get lost in the smell of cherries on Trixie’s breath.

“Huh,” Trixie replies, placing a gentle kiss on Katya’s nose, “I guess we did.” A blush spreads across her cheekbones and she feels the heat in her chest as she remembers the past few years.

“You’re my favourite,” Katya tells her, a whisper in the wind.

“And you’re mine.”

it’s born from just one single glance but it dies and it dies and it dies a million little times

They go through a rough patch. They’re only seventeen, it’s their god-given right to, and they’re hiding a secret that’s burning them both, slowly, but surely.

Katya spends more time with Danny and his band, and Trixie spends more time with Courtney and Pearl and Gigi and her boyfriend, who transferred at the end of last year. He’s got a mullet, and it’s confusing, but apparently it’s in fashion, so Trixie doesn’t try to argue.

They drift apart a little bit. It’s the kind of drifting where Trixie stares at Katya across the corridor - watches a boy with eyeliner compliment her rings in front of their lockers. Katya stares at Trixie too - watches her when Courtney and Pearl aren’t around to call her a dyke, and maybe she’s still hurt that Trixie chooses to be their friend.

She wonders what would happen if they knew where Trixie’s proclivities lie.

She slips a note into her locker, telling Trixie to meet her in the art room, 6th period on Thursday. It’s bound to be empty, the rest of the school busy with summer term exams and home study. She tells herself that she’ll wait till then. She can wait.

Trixie looks nervous when they meet, she’s pulling at one of her nails - the glossy pink peeling off.

“You wanted to see me?” She asks, voice low and cautious, and it breaks a little part of Katya that she doesn’t even realise is shattering.

“I’ve missed you,” Katya responds, honest and raw. She’s twisting her fingers together too, subconsciously mirroring Trixie, or whatever Danny was trying to tell her about psychology. Trixie nods slowly.

“I’ve missed you too,” she agrees, gulping air like she’s drowning. The tension is sucking all the air out of the room, but she’s only just noticed it’s ugly form. She manages a smile, and it’s softer than she thought she could muster.

“I love you, you know?”

Katya frowns, and it makes Trixie back into the table she’s been stood in front of.

“I don’t think you do,” Katya says, and suddenly the silence feels like it’s been shattered.

“Wh-” Trixie stutters, feeling like the air has been sucker-punched out of her lungs leaving her winded.

“I don’t think you do,” Katya repeats plainly, her eyes suddenly emptier than Trixie’s ever seen them. She’s gripping the table behind her so hard that her knuckles have gone white - gathering all her resolve because she’s sure she’ll crumble if she lets go for a second.

“Who are you to tell me what I feel?”

“You don’t.”

“Just because you’ve decided you can’t accept it.” Trixie’s indignant now, she wants to scream and shout and yell, but most of all - she just wants to understand.

“You don’t love me,” Katya says again. “You say you do, but you can’t. This hasn’t meant anything to me.” It’s a lie. She watches Trixie crumble and then pick herself back up again all in the space of a few seconds.

“You know what, you can go fuck yourself.” She throws it out there and watches it detonate - the harshest words she’s ever said to Katya.

She turns to leave, inhaling deeply to try and keep the tears in her eyes instead of streaming down her face where they want to be.

“Dyke,” she mutters as the door slams.

She leaves, and Katya finally falls apart.

look at this godforsaken mess that you made me you showed me colours you know i can’t see with anyone else