Baby, on my knees, but I still believe
Nov. 25th, 2016 09:52 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
furgoodThe moonlight drifts through black lace backed in white, over the bed, over her face. In those hazy months after the war finally seemed to end, she'd gone back. She'd gathered up everything from their home. Empty bowls where bettas no longer lived, books and clothing, candles and skulls, her curtains, the board Taria painted herself. She comes back with bags and bags, she comes back with drawings and a new tattoo on her ankle, the leo symbol in that perfect shade of green. She comes back to District Four with the past in her wake.
Sometimes she wonders if she should have left it all there. Other times she tucks her chin on her legs and looks around at her home and knows she's surrounded herself with friends. When she wants to forget the past, she reminds herself that it still happened. She reminds herself of her little pack, gathered from the world and the world beyond. She reminds herself of herself. All the parts. The girl who fell in love in the Capitol, with the Capitol and the woman who had the strength to try to tear it all down.
--
He's bad for you.
But aren't they all?
Derek with his eyes wide and words that echo the thoughts you sometimes can't quite push under. Chuck who doesn't quite seem to have left the war, who hasn't been the same as that man you used to tease in the living room. It's not as if you don't realize sometimes that your friends and you are broken, that you bring out the best and worst in each other.
You just don't care.
Latula finds you in town soon after you arrive, she finds out that you kept yourself close to your pack, that you wrap yourself tight around Kurloz still, that you put all your energy into keeping them safe and sane. Someone else keeps you safe and sane in turn.
She shakes her head in disbelief but you don't apologize. You can't apologize for loving the people you do.
--
You thought you were used to tattoos by now. You have two and you didn't choose an easy place for either of them. In the Capitol, it was simple. A fashion statement, something lovely to express yourself. It had been all too easy to fall into fashion, to wear the clover for the friend you lost, to keep it when you knew she'd returned. You got your ankle tattoo there, later, when you needed a symbol of strength, something for yourself, for no one else.
You now realize outside the Capitol that tattoos usually involve far more pain. You grit your teeth as the tattoo gun moves and up on your wrist, tracing out the thin line of the teal diamond that will encase the little clover.
It's different. You appreciate it more when you pull your wrist up and look at it in the light. It shimmers, something in the ink that makes it look a touch metallic. It's like you did more for it. Like it took more out of you.
Terezi notices it right away, the next time you meet, and her fingers trace it gently and then clasp your hand tight.
It hurt more but in the good way.
--
Twins, she has twins. A beautiful pair, a boy and a girl, and they had already picked out a name for each.
Her little Nepeta, her darling Gamzee, named not for their sacrifices but for their lives. A beautiful pair of lives done up anew.
He dotes on them. There's worry there, behind his eyes, some harsh anxiety, some internal dialogue going on as he lifts Gamzee to his chest and presses his lips to his forehead. Some promise, to her, to himself, to the child in his arms. She reaches out and when he would have put Gamzee back in her arms, she pulls him down a little more, kisses him soft.
You'll be purrfect, she promises. His hand rests all gentle on her cheek so he can't reply, but he kisses back, the way he has since that very first time, like he can't help it, like it's a joy, something he might lose.
--
Trolls are tiny at birth. Well. Whatever qualifies for birth with a species that hatches from strange eggs. She looks up quickly at the tall couple these three are related to, then back down. It seems impossible. It seems bizarre. Like a strange kind of magic trick. Humans are the same way, you console yourself. Sometimes even small than these little creatures.
She coos at the two teals and when the indigo clambers right up on her lap, as if they belonged there, she goes utterly still. There's a wide mouthed, many teethed yawn, then she realizes she has lose control of her lap for the foreseeable future. Her hand settles in their hair, a little wiry but easy to pet and stroke. The teals climb up next, not to be outdone, but it's not sleep they crave. They crawl up your arms, your shoulders, right up to the tippy top of your head.
A head peeks over a sea of fluff to look you in the eye and you smile.
"It's nice to meet you."
They smile back with all those teeth and your heart melts. You know if they manage to bring more into the world than can be cared for, you'd be there in an instant, to scoop them up, to carry them home, to care for them as your own children.
Sometimes she wonders if she should have left it all there. Other times she tucks her chin on her legs and looks around at her home and knows she's surrounded herself with friends. When she wants to forget the past, she reminds herself that it still happened. She reminds herself of her little pack, gathered from the world and the world beyond. She reminds herself of herself. All the parts. The girl who fell in love in the Capitol, with the Capitol and the woman who had the strength to try to tear it all down.
--
He's bad for you.
But aren't they all?
Derek with his eyes wide and words that echo the thoughts you sometimes can't quite push under. Chuck who doesn't quite seem to have left the war, who hasn't been the same as that man you used to tease in the living room. It's not as if you don't realize sometimes that your friends and you are broken, that you bring out the best and worst in each other.
You just don't care.
Latula finds you in town soon after you arrive, she finds out that you kept yourself close to your pack, that you wrap yourself tight around Kurloz still, that you put all your energy into keeping them safe and sane. Someone else keeps you safe and sane in turn.
She shakes her head in disbelief but you don't apologize. You can't apologize for loving the people you do.
--
You thought you were used to tattoos by now. You have two and you didn't choose an easy place for either of them. In the Capitol, it was simple. A fashion statement, something lovely to express yourself. It had been all too easy to fall into fashion, to wear the clover for the friend you lost, to keep it when you knew she'd returned. You got your ankle tattoo there, later, when you needed a symbol of strength, something for yourself, for no one else.
You now realize outside the Capitol that tattoos usually involve far more pain. You grit your teeth as the tattoo gun moves and up on your wrist, tracing out the thin line of the teal diamond that will encase the little clover.
It's different. You appreciate it more when you pull your wrist up and look at it in the light. It shimmers, something in the ink that makes it look a touch metallic. It's like you did more for it. Like it took more out of you.
Terezi notices it right away, the next time you meet, and her fingers trace it gently and then clasp your hand tight.
It hurt more but in the good way.
--
Twins, she has twins. A beautiful pair, a boy and a girl, and they had already picked out a name for each.
Her little Nepeta, her darling Gamzee, named not for their sacrifices but for their lives. A beautiful pair of lives done up anew.
He dotes on them. There's worry there, behind his eyes, some harsh anxiety, some internal dialogue going on as he lifts Gamzee to his chest and presses his lips to his forehead. Some promise, to her, to himself, to the child in his arms. She reaches out and when he would have put Gamzee back in her arms, she pulls him down a little more, kisses him soft.
You'll be purrfect, she promises. His hand rests all gentle on her cheek so he can't reply, but he kisses back, the way he has since that very first time, like he can't help it, like it's a joy, something he might lose.
--
Trolls are tiny at birth. Well. Whatever qualifies for birth with a species that hatches from strange eggs. She looks up quickly at the tall couple these three are related to, then back down. It seems impossible. It seems bizarre. Like a strange kind of magic trick. Humans are the same way, you console yourself. Sometimes even small than these little creatures.
She coos at the two teals and when the indigo clambers right up on her lap, as if they belonged there, she goes utterly still. There's a wide mouthed, many teethed yawn, then she realizes she has lose control of her lap for the foreseeable future. Her hand settles in their hair, a little wiry but easy to pet and stroke. The teals climb up next, not to be outdone, but it's not sleep they crave. They crawl up your arms, your shoulders, right up to the tippy top of your head.
A head peeks over a sea of fluff to look you in the eye and you smile.
"It's nice to meet you."
They smile back with all those teeth and your heart melts. You know if they manage to bring more into the world than can be cared for, you'd be there in an instant, to scoop them up, to carry them home, to care for them as your own children.
