November 27 marks the 16th year celebrating my mom’s birthday without her. She would have been 68 this year. Miss you, Mom.
One of only a few pictures I have of my mom and oldest daughter, taken about a month before she died.
Bellamy doesn’t let him pass. “How about you go talk to your girlfriend and leave Clarke alone. She obviously doesn’t want to talk to you.”
“She apparently doesn’t want to talk to you either.”
“Which is why I’m here and she’s there and we’re not talking. See how that works?”
–from my modern au The 100 fic
Welcome to Flashback Friday Fic where I go back and repost fic I wrote years ago.
River, Jayne (no pairings)
River really is a tad loony as Jayne finds out…the hard way.
275 words | rating: T
Red plastic, cold and hard, flecks of paste still stuck between the bristles.
Plain white, utilitarian, always perfectly clean and kept in it’s case.
Dark green, worn and battered, half the handle broken off, the bristles crushed from months, no, years of use.
Hand carved of ancient ivory, bristles so fine and white they glistened, Chinese characters inlaid in jade on the handle, a piece of art in itself.
This one buzzed when you pushed the button. Bzzz, bzzz. The bristles were green and in a circular pattern, bzzz, bzzz, bzzz.
Pink and sparkly, a cheerful tune played if it moved.
Another plain plastic one, this in brown with a soft rubber grip at the end, clean and new.
This one was her favorite, though. She picked it up and held it to her eyes. Inside the clear blue plastic swam tiny little orange fish. At least they were supposed to look of fish but they were a mite too small and made of plastic to be real fish. But they floated and bobbed up and down the handle. But if you shook it too hard bubbles formed, and the fishies were obscured.
“Girl, what in the gorram world are you doing?”
“I’m cleaning the floor like the captain asked,” River said as she pushed the red brush against the cold steel decking.
“Gwai-gwai long duh dong! That’s my toothbrush,” Jayne yelled.
Without looking at him she held up the glittery pink brush. Jayne snatched it from her hand.
“Crazy nutter,” he mumbled as he stormed back to his bunk, a cheery tune following him as he went.
“You’re welcome,” River called after him.
Bellamy suddenly clamps his arms around her with a growl.
“Quit wiggling around,” he says into her ear, voice rough.
Clarke bites down on her lip to keep from laughing. “Sorry.”
Bellamy leans his forehead against the back of her head and shakes it. “You’re killing me, princess.”
–from an untitled modern au The 100 fic in which everyone goes camping.
Millers Kill Mysteries
Russ takes a little time off from the busy July 4th crowd to spend a little time with Clare.
293 words | rating: PG
Clare watched the fireworks from her spot on the faded, worn blanket spread out in the grass of the park. Overhead the bright shower of sparks exploded with a loud pop. She jumped, her body going rigid at the sound.
She glanced over her shoulder to find Russ standing a few feet away, still in uniform, but with his hands jammed in his pockets. She shrugged in answer then turned back up to watch another shower of colors descend over the “oohing” crowd.
“It took me years to not jump at every backfiring car or bottle rocket going off.”
After a moment, he lowered himself to the blanket next to her and sat quietly. She noticed he wasn’t watching the show. “Are you still on the clock?”
“Once a cop, always a cop.” His eyes finally slid over to hers, and she felt her pulse speed up. She quickly looked away, her face flushing under his scrutiny.
Another pop caught her off guard, and she gave Russ a sheepish grin. He just smiled, scooting closer until their legs were touching—not overtly intentional looking, but obvious to her nonetheless. She didn’t even notice the next blossom of sparks; her eyes fixed on Russ. He spread his hands away from his body and leaned back on them, mimicking Clare’s position. As his face turned up towards the show, she felt his fingers brushing against her hand. It took every ounce of will power not to look down at them, not to draw attention to the illicit touch. She swallowed hard and followed his gaze up to the night sky trying to be content in the little gesture of friendship he offered. It was all they had.
Strong hands caught her, setting her back on her feet. She remembered a second too late that she was wandering around the forest alone, not at all paying attention to her surroundings. Bellamy would be pissed.
Sure enough she looked up into dark, angry eyes. She felt her face flush, sending prickles down her neck as the heat of embarrassment fought with the sting of the winter air.
“What are you doing?” Bellamy demanded, dropping his hands.
–a random The 100 fanfic (aren’t they all–one of these days I might actually finish one)