#but I’m a bit jaded from some friends on here navigating break ups

[clingylilhoneybee]

Did you and Teddy break up..?

Yes we did. It was mutual and very amicable but understandably it’s been rough on both of us. We both hold a huge amount of love for each other which made the decision all the more difficult. Neither person did anything wrong to cause the breakup so please don’t try going to him (or me) trying to talk shit because you feel the need to pick a side in the breakup. It’s gonna take some time to navigate what things look like going forward on and offline since he was my person my entire adult life. Biggest changes coming on here in the short term are a possible (likely?) url change since koala was a nickname from Teddy and obviously a lack of posts relating to him.

My mutuals have been so great in their varied levels of support during this time and really helped me realize how much of a rock this community is for me and I hope it gets to continue being that way even as I transition out of my connection to Teddy.

[foulcrownkryptonite]

Tracing Constellations

A storm rages through the 104th's wooded training quarters, leaving a long hike for Jean and Marco to fix a water-logged issue... the time alone making for some unexpected discoveries.

(for the sake of the fic + levels of maturity I am achieving with this story, everyone will be legal adults!)

Chapter One: An Obscurity.

“I’ll kill them all! Just you wait and see!!” The dining hall had been relatively calm, the tranquil buzz of steady conversation and cutlery clinking against plates mixed to create a pleasant hum. It was one of those rare nights their usual starchy glop was exchanged for a more sustainable, hearty potato soup, paired with a cheap but effective booze. A good night to say the least. A good night until Eren (Dumbass) Jaeger opened his obnoxious mouth. The young man’s tired phrase reverberated throughout the hall, pitching obnoxiously off the high ember ceiling. God, I’m too sober for this…

Eren’s endless prattling of ‘I’ll save the world’ or ‘I have more passion than anyone here’ had gotten old fast. It bugged the ever-loving shit out of him, and with the current daggers-for-eyes and under-the-breath-scoffs Jaeger was getting, the sentiment was well shared.

“Don’t give me that Mikasa, I mean it! I’m going to kill every last one of those-'' Eren was promptly cut off by Jean’s hands smacking the table in front of him, causing a nearby fork to clink to the ground. Jean rose from his seat with an overly dramatic flare, making a show out of swooping his hair back. If the entire dining hall weren’t already watching the pair with dreadful, tired looks, they certainly were now. Some hushed whispers and exasperated groans sprinkled about the room as Jean assumed his stance towering over Eren.

“Well, all hail King Jaeger, eh? Oh don’t worry my friends, the man who can’t balance on his ODM gear will stop the incoming apocalypse!” he taunted, voice oozing with that special kind of ridicule Jean knew got Eren’s blood boiling. He was up and out of his seat before Mikasa had a chance to pull him back. Jean snorted loudly.

“Eager are we? Well then Jaeger, fight me like the man you’re always claiming to be.”

“Says the fucking horse face”

“Oh how original”

“Foal!”

“Jackass!”

The surrounding cadets watched with jaded faces, sighing at the scene unfolding for at least the third time that week. It was no longer entertaining, or really worth wasting any time or energy on, so they returned their attention to their much more exciting dinners and side banters.

The ever arrogant duo stepped to the center of the room, assuming, of course, all focus to be on them. Sharing dissent and ill-bred sneers, they theatrically assumed their fighting position. Guess I’ll just have to put him back in his pla-

“Nope. Okay-hah, we’re done here.” Marco interrupted, their foolish behavior striking his last nerve, the last nerve of the entire collective dining hall for that matter. Sighs of relief and annoyance sounded around them as Marco marched over and grabbed at Jean’s jacket, pulling him out from the table and towards the door.

“‘Ey, what’re you doin-” Marco wordlessly dragged the half pissed, half confused and positively tipsy Jean across the room, the grip on his jacket unwavering. A small chuckle escaped Jean’s mouth at Marco's unexpectedly forceful behavior. Damn, those muscles aren’t just for show, huh?

Marco sighed as he led him towards the door, a poorly concealed smile creeping its way onto his features. “Bedtime.” Marco concluded, biting back his smile in need of a more threatening look. Jean didn’t fight it. Instead, he bristled as he caught Conny’s snide face before the door to the dining hall was shut by Marco’s boot. The low lit lantern illuminated the two in a soft orange glow and the thick wooden door effectively drowned out the murmurs coming from behind it.

The change in air was drastic, shifting from a crowded and loud mess hall to the peaceful sounds of an autumn night and Marco’s freckled face incandescent under that old lantern. Marco’s hand remained firm in the layers of his jacket yet neither made motions to move. Jean was in a weird sort of trance and yeah he should move and unblock the way for Marco but for some reason he didn't. It wasn’t as if the other had really given him a chance to, what with him still holding onto the front of Jean’s coat.. A couple still moments passed and Marco had a strange, almost calculating look on his face.

Jean couldn't remember how long he had been standing there, the alcohol starting to intoxicate his body and the sheer closeness of Marco starting to intoxicate his brain. But if the loosening grip on his chest and Marco’s suddenly flushing face said anything, whatever this was had gone on a bit too long. The last thing Jean wanted was to make his good friend uncomfortable- No matter how nice just standing there in the cool breeze with Marco’s hand on his chest… Nope. Backtrack on that line of thinking. Immediately.

Things were getting awkward fast and Marco looked like he was going to say something and shit he probably shouldn’t have chugged that last bit of his drink, huh? To clear the sudden tension caused by his inability not to fucking gawk at Marco, Jean did the only thing his dumb tipsy brain could think of: make a drunken escape.

“Betcha can’t catch me.” he blurted before breaking out of Marco’s loose hold, running towards their quarters in a less than put together fashion. Was Jean literally running away from whatever moment just passed between the two? Why yes, indeed he was. But Marco’s eventual breathy laugh and quickening footsteps enclosing in on him told Jean everything was fine. Well consider that a job well done.

The two then stupidly ran around the camp, Jean hiding behind every tree and supply wagon trying to scare Marco, and Marco doing everything in his power to tackle the other. After a particularly bone crushing embrace and a loud laughing fit quickly admonished by Shadis, the inebriated pair walked the rest of the way to their dorm, the air around them now whimsy and casual.

They trudged through the wooded path, torches lighting the ground every few yards. They sprung into sporadic fits of giggles over absolutely nothing, both of the men now feeling the full effects of dinner’ mead, and Marco no longer playing the role of the responsible sober friend.

The cadets had been training in the woods for a week now, the goal being to get them used to ODM gear and combat in a dense forest. It was a welcome change of scenery from the usual parching desert and brutal heat. Being surrounded by rich greens and active rivers somehow made the strenuous drilling and long hours somewhat enjoyable.

Though navigating the dark forested path whilst drunk proved to be more than a little difficult. His attempts at walking straight in the dense woods were apparently remarkably entertaining, as when Jean confidently waltzed straight into a tree the slightly less drunk Marco lost his absolute mind, laughing himself into a puddle on the ground.

With minimal bumps and bruises, they eventually made it to their quarters. Marco plopped himself dramatically onto an old shipping barrel and started to squirm his way out of his jacket. Ok, perhaps the other was drunker than Jean thought.

Chuckling to himself, he walked over to help his struggling friend out of the confines of the fabric. Marco stopped squirming and tried to accommodate for Jeans helping hands, flushing slightly when his eyes met Jeans. He quickly averted his gaze, turning to eye the door as Jean finished struggling with the last button.

With the jacket discarded, Marco straightened his gaze to look up at Jean, who seemed to tower over him. A couple heated seconds passed in silence until Marco started… shaking? Before concern could settle in, sporadic chuckles started to escape from the man underneath him, evolving into a full on belly laugh. Jean took a small step back and looked down at him in bewilderment but Marco just shook his head, words be damned in his current state.

“Sorry, I just-” he began to topple over himself, a fit of laughter bubbling in his stomach. “I don’t know why I’m laughing honestly-” he spat out through giggles. He was fluctuating between attempting to catch his breath and then losing it all over again. It was utterly ridiculous, but Jean couldn’t hold back his own ugly laugh at the scene. Every couple of seconds Marco would try to stop and speak through the laughter but to no avail, making Jean slump to the ground in front of Marco, clutching his stomach as his body heaved with mirth.

Marco was snorting at that point and on anyone else he would’ve been annoyed at the sheer volume. Say, if Eren was sitting on that barrel losing his damn mind over nothing at all he would’ve slapped the sense back into him. But something about Marco’s water filled eyes and big loud smile just made him feel warm. Or.. perhaps that was just the alcohol.

He grinned as he looked only at the mad man sitting in front of him. From this distance he could see each little freckle adorning his nose and cheeks and the way his nose would scrunch in between sets of giggles. It was an endearing sight, cute even, though Jean would never admit that aloud.

Too caught up in their snickering, the two almost didn’t notice their comrades briskly stumbling in, Ymir being the one who pushed the two large wooden doors hurriedly. “In.” she commanded, and stepped back as everyone else dashed inside. Jean startled and Marco’s laughter alleviated as Ymir eyed them, her face contorted so it was impressively indecipherable. She had quite the poker face, though some general annoyance seemed to seep out as usual.

“What’s the damn ruckus about?” Jean demanded more than he asked, his filter coming back down hard now that more people were around. Ymir looked at Jean with a face that basically read as, ‘Shut the fuck up you’re the one making a dopey ruckus.’ Instead of voicing any of that though, she shut and locked the door as the final cadets made their way inside.

“Massive storm coming in, it’ll do some damage” she stated plainly before her eyes went back to Marco. “Maybe you two lovebirds would’ve noticed if you weren’t screaming like damn hyenas.” she joked dryly, her arms coming to a close across her chest. Marco snorted slightly at the tease but Jean stood up defensively, though perhaps a bit wobbly.

Before he could say a word, Ymir cut in with a raised brow. “Whoaaa relax there horsey, I’m kidding. Mostly. Just go lock the windows in the other rooms before they blow out in the middle of the night.” he nodded hesitantly in response and gave Marco a floppy wave of sorts. He still looked like he was glowing, as if somehow the light from the torches outside still reflected in his pale brown eyes. A sneer from Ymir brought his attention back to… what exactly? Oh right, the windows. Jean quickly left without another word, cursing the alcohol slightly under his breath. The rest of the cadets shuffled about, fulfilling whatever it was their makeshift Captain Ymir ordered.

Not without a scoff and an eye roll, she turned back to Marco. “Just us,” she demanded. “Help me with the rest of the rooms.”

__________

(MARCO POV)

After a solid half hour of flood-proofing the place to the best of their ability, as well as general clean up, Ymir poured the two of them a small whisky to top off the night. Marco relaxed into the sole couch of the common room and Ymir slumped herself into a chair by the window.

The living space was dusky and growing winds pounded the windows, putting them slightly on edge. Nevertheless, Ymir seemed to have something to say to him. She gulped down her drink and tossed the empty glass onto the ground, Marco’s eyes widening in both awe and intimidation. He steeled his nerves as he prepared for whatever it was Ymir needed out of him.

She looked at him like a scientist to a specimen, searching for something upon Marco’s features. Marco squirmed under the intense stare, and it was then that Ymir asked the burning question, cutting right to the chase.

“Do you like Jean?” she probed. Marco sucked in a quick breath at this question. The answer was yes, but why was she asking in the first place? Not knowing exactly what angle she was getting at, he tried to answer in the simplest, most non revealing way.

“Yeah I mean we’re definitely good friends.” he said apprehensively. Not wanting to look Ymir in the eyes, his gaze fell back to the rather pretty glass in his hands, thumbs tracing the engraved pattern.

Ymir smirked at this reaction and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees in a carefree ‘Ymir’ kinda way. “Marco. You know what I'm asking.” her voice was laced with mirth and her sneering face told him she probably already knew his answer. Damn her perceptiveness. Marco had hoped he wasn’t too obvious in his… feelings. But he supposes after tonight's less than subtle antics, e.g., grabbing a laughing Jean into an animalistic embrace and holding it for much longer than necessary, people would start suspecting something.

His eyes still didn’t meet hers as he sighed shakily, knowing there was little to no backing away from this conversation. “Please just… Don’t tell him?” he pleaded, looking back to the girl sitting across from him. Her previous visible mockery and inevitable taunt had faded, her features setting into something akin to understanding.

“Sure, you can trust me.” she said casually, taking a swig of the remaining whisky straight from the bottle. “We’re the same in that way if ya catch my drift.” Although compared to, say Christa, Ymir’s words would seem invasive and rude, they were sweet in their own way. And although Marco wouldn’t say this wasn’t invasive, he appreciated the kindness nonetheless.

Regardless, Marco definitely “caught her drift”. He looked at her with a sort of twinkle in his eyes, pleased to know there was at least one other person in the 104th that wasn’t straight. He chuckled, still embarrassed despite the genuinely accepting nature of their conversation thus far. “God, what gave it away?”

“Oh, I dunno,” she sighed dramatically, “Maybe the way he was looking at you. Maybe the way you were looking at him… Or maybe just a hunch I happened to get right.” Marco laughed at the sentiment before a frown crept onto his face. “Does anyone else…”

“Know?” she finished. Marco nodded. “No, they don’t. It seems only I had the misfortune of seeing you two ogle each other all the damn time. Awful luck on my part. But don’t ya worry, your dirty little secret’s safe with me.”

He snickered as he raised his glass to his lips, downing the rest of the liquid inside. Ymir gave him a curious glance, and Marco softly set the drink down to his side, hands reaching up to grab at his warming face.

“God, what do I even do about it?” he mumbled through the palms of his hands, and Ymir could taste the desperation from where she sat.

Resting her chin between her fingers, she spoke. “Look, hear me out before you interrupt and tell me I’m wrong - but he likes you too.” Marco lifted his head to speak but Ymir cut him off with a glance. “I said, listen. I see the way he looks at you. I saw the way he looked at you tonight. He wasn’t just glancing at his friend… He was admiring you, Marco, your features. Now to me, that’s pretty telling.” Marco contemplated what she was saying, tried to really think about it before he shot it down entirely.

Is that really true? Is it even possible that the oh so straight Mr. ladies man Jean could… Feel the same way about him? It’s true they had some… moments tonight. Hell they’ve been having “moments” for as long as they've known each other. Though Jean did end up speeding away from one of those so called moments just over an hour ago… Was he being too hopeful? Oh god was he coming on too strong?

Ymir groaned at Marco's crestfallen face and stood up, closing the distance between the seats and plopping herself next to Marco. He gave her a curious glance, and in turn she gave a patient smile, well it was really closer to a grimace but still, it was the principle of it all.

He sat quietly, picking his lips with his bottom teeth. Ymir let him wallow in his worry for a whopping three seconds before kicking his ankle with her boot.

“Ow!” Marco pouted. An unspoken question of ‘The hell was that for?’ being shut down before it could be voiced.

“Oh shut it you were visibly spiraling.”

Ymir sunk into the back of the couch, pondering a moment before speaking again.

“You know, Jean isn’t going to initiate anything. Seeing as you’re more in tune with your emotions than that knucklehead is, you need to drop your damn balls and make a move.” Marco scoffed, shaking his head with a slight smile at Ymir’s bluntness.

“I know, I know… You’re right.” Marco finally begrudged, causing Ymir’s ‘Of course I'm right’ smile to appear. “But we never get alone time - we’re always interrupted before he can fully open up to me…”

“Yes!” Ymir exclaimed. “You see it now. Sure it might seem tricky, but if Christa and I can find a way, you can too.” she winked and Marco damn near choked.

“You- and- I had no idea I mean-“ he stuttered before she kicked him again.

“Shut up. And don’t tell a soul.” She smiled cheekily. He nodded intently.

“Course, Ymir.” She playfully punched him, standing up from the sunken couch.

“Good luck, Marco.” she whispered.

He beamed, his chest gleaming with a soft gratitude. “Thank you.”

When Marco turned in for the night, his mind raced with endless possibilities, ranging from transcendent to nightmarish. Wishful thoughts flashed through his mind; Jean getting impossibly close, feather light touches of hands, his head resting in the crook of Jean’s neck, Marco being told he was wanted, telling Jean he wanted him. He bit his cheek, smiling stupidly at the fantasies before he felt a deep sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Jean could easily not feel the same. Jean could easily have never entertained the same idyllic fantasies as Marco was now.

Great, now it hurt.

Plagued with a new sense of guilt, he tossed and turned in the seasoned cot, praying for sleep to take him away from the build up of emotions in his chest. He pondered the possibility of similar thoughts dancing in Jean’s mind…

__________

(Jean POV)

Jean didn’t “wake up”, he just was up. That damned storm last night had kept him awake practically all night. What first was an occasional gust quickly turned into a rampaging wind-demon set out to prevent him and apparently only him from sleeping soundly. Someone had cursed him. Probably that damn Jaeger out for revenge due to Jean always winning their feuds. Typical.

The little sleep he did get consisted of repeated unsolicited scenarios about… Well that didn’t matter now.

It was the morning after a ferocious storm and he was reluctant to see the wreckage he knew he had to help out with. He groaned, rolling out of his bed in an overly dramatic pout. Sure he was acting a bit like a child but right now he just needed sleep so damn everything else, he’s going to throw his little fit. He caught Marco looking at him out of the corner of his eye, his hair ruffled and looking extra fluffy. He was giggling at Jean’s stubborn theatrics, a sweater-hooded hand loosely covering his mouth. Cute. Jean felt a bit more energized after that and he didn't bother to question why.

Once dressed, he headed out to meet the rest of the trainees outside the sleeping quarters. Holy hell, the damage was bad: shingles of the roof scattered the grass, trash was knocked down, even some large trees had fallen in the distance.

Eren rolled his eyes before their commander could even step close. “God, can’t we make someone else clea-” the brat began before getting hit softly by Armin.

“Eren! One day of cleanup doesn’t equate to the fall of humanity.” he sharply retorted. Jean chuckled at this exchange, overjoyed to see the prick put in his place by his own best friend. Speaking of which, he couldn’t seem to spot Marco…

“ATTENTION CADETS.” their Commander roared as he marched toward the gathered crowd.

“YES SIR!” They yelled back in unison, fists crossing chests in an assertive salute.

“Deep woods ODM training is put on hold for today due to the storm. I will be assigning you each in groups of two or three to aid in cleaning this mess.” Jean scanned the surrounding area nervously, where was Marco? “Proceed to the front to get your duty from me before you grab a cold meal.” the Commander directed. Pairs of people made their way to get their job of the day, but Jean stayed behind, unable to spot Marco. Nerves crept up his spine as the line got shorter, indicating he would have to grab a job with someone he possibly couldn’t stand - especially after such a shitty sleep.

A few moments later and the remaining crowd was scant, still no Marco to be seen. “Jean, you’re on running water. I need you to go up to the creek and find the source stopping the water from running back to us. We have enough for the day, but this cannot go on. You will need a partner…” Shadis trailed off, finding only Annie and some guy Jean barely could remember the name of. Tomas? Tobiaus? Timothious?

He sighed, knowing nothing but complaints would come from either cadets if forced to spend an entire day with him. Jean crossed his arms, awaiting a choice of partner from his boss while he dreaded the inevitably long journey stuck with either insufferable silence or annoying small talk.

“Commander sir, I can go with Jean.” A pleasant voice chirped in from behind. And with those few words: salvation. Jean subconsciously uncrossed his arms and smirked as the Commander let out a sigh of relief upon seeing Marco approach.

“Thank Heavens, the one person who can stand him.” he murmured, Marco frowning at the not so quiet comment as he walked up to Jean's side. “That is fine, pack plentiful in case you get stuck for a night, we are not sure how much wreckage is up there, nor how long the journey on foot will take. There’s a shed around there you could set up in for the night. Do not come back today if you do not have ample time before sundown. Now get moving!” he ordered, his last words reverberating in a loud squawk.

“Yes sir!” They saluted before Jean met eyes with Marco. “Where the hell were you?” he questioned. Marco playfully rolled his eyes.

“Worried, hmm?” he chuckled, “Don’t worry, I was just helping Ymir with something.” he replied brightly. Ymir? That seems random… But he decided to not question it.

The two went back to their rooms to pack for their lengthy and no doubt strenuous trip up the mountain. Jean found himself not only not dreading the excursion, but actively looking forward to it. He felt a bit like a hyperactive kid as genuine excitement coursed through his veins. Should he bring his comb? Nah he probably won't need it. But what if they do end up having to spend the night and Jean turns too much in his sleep and his hair gets all messy and floofy and Marco looks at him with damned bed head and then probably giggles to himself and makes a dumb but cute comment about it because its Marco and somehow he always manages to make what Jean is insecure about into something he can actually like about himself just like when he’d said Jean’s eyes were pretty like a brown hibiscus and he stopped hating the way his eyes looked when he saw his reflection looking back at him and- Jean grabbed the stupid hairbrush and threw it into his bag.

Once sufficiently supplied, they scarfed a crummy cold meal before heading out as quickly they could manage.

Marco seemed awfully giddy as they started down a gravely path lined with fern. Though cheerful he often was, Marco was struggling to hide a smile. It wasn’t a bad sight at all, though Jean was curious. “What’s got you so damn happy today?” he questioned. Marco shrugged.

“I think I made a new friend - always a nice feeling, yknow?” Jean would say he’s surprised, but everyone in the 104th loved Marco, even the stoic ones, and he had a sneaking suspicion of who exactly his new friend was.

“Ymir?” he asked plainly. Marco nodded, a soft smile finding its way onto his face.

“Yeah. Y’know, she may seem edgy but she can be really kind.” he expressed, eyes a bit starry and thoughtful. He clearly didn’t hear how the words sounded to Jean.

Jean bit back the bitter remark already forming as envy crept its way into his mind. Why was it bothering him? He’s still his friend. His best friend even. Gah, not a big deal, keep it together. He told himself before rephrasing whatever edgy comment he was going to sneer into a hopefully harmless question.

“You like her?” he ended up asking, false humor falling from his tongue.

Marco looked visibly confused. “What? No I’m- not my type. She just has a good head on her.” he surmised. Why won’t Marco ever admit attraction? Does he not trust Jean? Jean had no problem divulging about those he found hot, so why wouldn’t Marco do the same?

The next few hours were spent bullshitting around as they walked; sharing stupid jokes about who in their class was most likely to get kicked out, a stupid conversation about Ymir that probably shouldn’t have peeved him so much, Jean going on a long winded rant about how justified he is in smacking Eren atop the head, Marco stopping to pick up random bird feathers exclaiming each time that, “No Jean, you don’t get it, this one is rare.” and eventually, as the sun started its descent towards the horizon, their casual banter shifted into their hopes for the future.

“Eh, I don’t wanna get married. Who wants to be stuck with a chick forever?!” Jean quipped. At his words Marco chuckled nervously, his gaze diverting to the coarse dirt beneath him.

“Yeah, me too. I don’t wanna get married. I’m fine living a life alone with me and my hobbies.” he said flippantly, fiddling with the strap of his backpack. Jean found the tone of his voice had changed into something more sullen and somber, and a glance over at his friend did not yield him any better results. Jean must do something about this.

He lightly elbowed his friend. “Well, if ya change your mind, I think you’d make a great husband some day.” Jean said honestly, no lick of sarcasm to his voice. Marco’s knees wobbled for a moment before he corrected them, clearing his throat to cover his obvious nerves.

“Thanks, Jean. You too.” he replied, biting his cheek. Another glance towards his friend showed a soft smile and a flushed face. Jean succeeded. Though now he too felt a bit hot in the face. He once again decided not to unpack that.

As they hiked, they spotted a would-be stream leading down to their base. Taking note of the lack of obvious running water, they were certain something rather large had blocked it. “Guess it’ll be a chore huh.” Marco pointed out. Jean began flexing dramatically, his tight muscles showing slightly through the thin white tunic.

“Pfft, your ol’ buddy Jean here will fix it right up for us, eh?” he joked, Marco eyeing him with a raised eyebrow followed with a hearty laugh. Sure, he wasn’t helping Jean’s ego, but he didn’t care.

The more they conversed alone, the more Jean felt his social facade fade, ending up losing whatever filter he had in place for other people all together. He wasn’t sure why this was the case, only knew that it made him feel relaxed and just genuinely, all around good. Perhaps it was the lack of a crowd - or Eren Jaeger. Either way, he was loosening up and took joy in seeing Marco enjoy himself on this trip as well.

“This is nice,” Jean said, smiling at the open air and lack of obvious walls. It felt open here, almost free. Hell, for the most part, they’ve forgotten completely about life inside the walls. Marco looked over and followed his friend's gaze to the sky, basking in the comfortable feeling.

“It is…” he began, sneaking another glance at Jean. “Really nice.”.

PART 2!!! 

https://foulcrownkryptonite.tumblr.com/post/663166809268224000/tracing-constellations-pt2

[themonotonysyndrome]

Hey i just want to know that if you still make headcanon holy quintet in twst series , if you not is okay ,but if you still make , i have several question ,

What if madoka transform to madokami i want to know boys reaction especially diasmonia boys ?

I want to know what if sayaka got corrupt and the boys reaction(especially adeuce) see witch form sayaka for first time and their think sayaka got overblot but they wrong it worst than that!

I want to know that what boys reaction if they see the witchs and Walpurgisnacht for the first time are they gonna fight or not?

What all boys(especially dorm leaders)reaction homura tell the truth of soul gem and she tell how she looping time to time for 12 years and 100 looping

And btw i am boy its weird boy love twisted wonderland(not really but i love the character design and story(i just hate riddle mom treat him to obey all rules, he need freedom:( ))

Sorry for making many question

Hello! I’m happy that you enjoyed the TWST x PMMM series! Most of my writing projects have taken a back seat due to work and since it’s currently the Ramadan season, I just don’t have a lot of energy to write anymore more than for work. I mean, it took me half a day to answer this ask. 

I definitely want to get back to writing for this crossover series and maybe even copied what I’ve written so far into my AO3 for easy reading and navigating but we’ll see. For now, I’m indulging whatever plot bunnies that come my way so I won’t stop writing altogether. 

So lay them on me, dude! Expanding the series is always fun. (Also, bear with me. This is gonna be a long post). 

@lionheartanotheraccount and I had discussed these actually on Discord! Some were pinned, some were not (I’m an idiot. I should have pinned all of our crossover texts!), so lemme explain what I still remember. Feel free to pinch in if I forgot something incorrectly or left something out, Lion! 

1. What if Madoka transforms to MadoKAMI, I want to know boys’ reaction, especially Diasmonia’s boys

After the anime ended, Lion and I talked about how not that she’s a Goddess, she has the ability to visit Twisted Wonderland on her own and she approached Malleus and the rest of the Diasomnia gang in her human disguise so as not to freak them out. Well, Lilia and Malleus could feel the divinity within Madoka and you can expect the immense shock that not only could Madoka travel across worlds, but she’s also no longer human too. It’s a teary reunion and Malleus’ and Lilia’s hearts break when MadoKAMI explain everything. They comforted her to their best ability but ultimately, it’s been done. There’s nothing else they could do for her. It’s bittersweet for Lilia. Why, a human child ascended into a Goddess so she could save the fates of her friends and every Magical Girls in the past, present and future - she grew up out of necessity and love. Both Lilia and Malleus is proud to be her friend. 

2.  I want to know what if Sayaka got corrupt and the boys’ reaction(especially Adeuce) see Witch form Sayaka for the first time and they think Sayaka got Overblot but they wrong it worst than that!

The existence of a Witch’s Labyrinth is enough to make the boys instantly wary and a bit frighten (not that any of them would admit it). Bad times for everyone. The boys so confused, wanting to help Sayaka. The girls are horrified at the truth of Witches and Magical Girls and Homura is rushing in to kill Sayaka. Chaos everywhere with Octavie shrieking and trying to kill them all, Symposium Magarum blaring in the background and the Witch’s familiars flying everywhere to make sure their Witch could enjoy the music. 

No one could fight Octavia so they had to retreat. Homura causing enough distraction for them to escape. By the time they went out of the Labyrinth, shouting and screams begin. 

Adeuce would the most horrified, Madoka of course, heartbroken. Mami is losing it (to which Homura’s getting trigger happy and refused to look away from her. She’s ready to put Mami out of her misery the moment Mami so much as flinch) and Sayaka is both furious and still in shock. At this point, Homura has no choice but to reveal the fact she knows the truth about Magical Girls in order to explain that no, they don’t Overblot. They... mature into Witches when their Soul Gems turn pitch black. Here’s a little gem(lol) from explorerofsy on Discord:  vil internally: mami is a gem 

vil later when he finds out about soul gems: 

when i said that mami is a gem, i did not expect that to be literal

It’s sad but it made me laugh sick. 

3. I want to know that what boys’ reaction if they see the Witches and Walpurgisnacht for the first time. Are they gonna fight or not?

The moment Homura explains that turning to Witches is irreversible and is the ultimate fate of all Magical Girls, some would deny it. Their magic is different from the girls, maybe they have a way to stop the transformation here in Twisted Wonderland. The academically-inclined students (Malleus, Riddle, Jamil, Vil and even Idia) would delve into hours of research, only to find nothing (I mean, Kyubey is akin to an Eldritch being, something beyond their comprehension so how on Twisted Wonderland would they push their magic against his strange abilities?). The other students are keeping a very close eye on the girls’ Soul Gems. I mentioned in a long-ago post that even Lilia would demand Madoka present her Soul Gem to him for inspection once every week since Madoka is still distraught over what happened to Sayaka. 

Will the boys fight the Witches? Well, in terms of Octavia, the Heartslabyul boys will struggle to kill her, even after Homura explains that the Witch is no longer Sayaka and it’s better to put her out of her despair and give her Grief Seed to Madoka (though Madoka would let Adeuce keep Octavia’s Grief Seed; it’s the only thing the boys have left of Sayaka after all. Madoka at least have years worth of memories of them together). 

In terms of Walpurgisnacht, Homura would debrief the girls and boys the strongest Witch to ever exist (Keeping Kriemhild Gretchen to herself. For now. She really, really doesn’t want to open that horrible can of worms) and showed them just how powerful and destructive she can be using her magic. Malleus would be intrigued in fighting her though. 

4. What would the boys’ (especially dorm leaders) reaction be when Homura tell the truth of Soul Gems and she tells how she looping time to time for 12 years and 100 looping

Characters like Leona, Lilia and Malleus would be shocked stupid. Time magic is already an insanely OP power and Homura, a human child, been abusing and looping time just to find a way to kill Walpurgisnacht? Leona will straight up spit out that Homura’s insane and Lilia will silently agree with him, wondering if Homura has gone mad. Malleus couldn’t help but applaud Homura’s will and her careful planning in making sure her Soul Gem remains pure. Kalim will cry for her; he couldn’t imagine what sort of pain Homura purposely gone through just to save her friends (cue Homura’s awkwardly patting him on the back, telling him not to cry because she made her choices) 

5. And btw i am boy its weird boy love twisted wonderland(not really but i love the character design and story(i just hate riddle mom treat him to obey all rules, he need freedom:( ))

It’s cool! Twisted Wonderland and its fandom are some of the very few fandoms I really enjoy. But then again, I tend to keep to myself and some close friends so I don’t really see the dramas. And you’re right, the story and characters’ design are what hooked me in. I was introduced to Twisted Wonderland when I saw a fanart of a little Azul holding hands with Floyd and Jade, looking disgruntled at being treated like a kid while the Tweels just smirk. That’s why Azul and the Tweels will always be my favourite in the fandom!

Yeah... when you think about it, most of the characters have unhealthy relationships with their family. Riddle with his Mum, Leona with his status and brother, Azul with his childhood bullying, and while we don’t know what exactly happen with King and Queen Draconia, Malleus probably knew them for only a short time (hell, they could even pass away before he was hatched). 

[smhalltheurlsaretaken]

Birthday prompt #6

Read on Ao3 Birthday prompts masterlist

@phenixy-dunnhart​

[Sinon, j'adore l'amitié juste excellent entre Rios et Raffi, si tu veux une variation (Cris qui se sacrifie pour protéger Raffi) -> Cris getting hurt protecting Raffi] 

Some time after leaving Coppelius to gallivant around the cosmos with their motley crew, Raffi collapsed in the ops seat next to Seven and Cris and loudly announced that they had to go out for drinks, and not replicated ones. They had to find a suitably shady Space Station, go out, find a bar, and get absolutely smashed.

“We’re tired, we have time on our hands, and your replicators can’t get Romulan ale right for some reason,” she told Cris as an explanation.

(It was true, he’d messed that up the one time he had drunkenly tried to disable the Hospitality Hologram’s ability to talk.)

The dark circles under her eyes alone would have convinced him anyway. The last week had been tiring. They had spent it avoiding uncharted asteroid belts that really had no business being so large (seriously, what the hell), fixing navigation issues that Enoch swore had nothing to do with the corrupted 23rd century holos he’d helped Soji illegally download for Elnor, and chasing around the four neutered tribble-rabbit hybrids the kids had smuggled aboard.

“Why just the three of us?” Seven asked with a raised eyebrow, legs propped up on the console and disinclined to move, even for drinks.

Raffi snorted.

“Well I wasn’t going to invite JL, obviously.”

That got Seven and Cris to roll their eyes in concert. Yeah, obviously. Admiral Jean-Luc Picard, retired, was too posh and too old to have any concept of fun – or, more specifically, to be able to understand the appeal of marinating your liver in real alcohol and crawl your way back to your quarters to pass out for a day straight.

“But what about Agnes and the kids?” Cris inquired, gracelessly sprawled on the Captain’s seat with a cigar in one hand and a book in another, feeling just as lazy as Seven.

“I asked, she offered to babysit,” Raffi replied. “I don’t want to be responsible for Elnor and Soji’s first hangover.”

“Not to mention that we’d have to keep an eye out for them,” Seven agreed with a nod. “Fair enough. Let’s go to DS 11.”

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Whoever had deemed synthehol an adequate substitute to good old ethanol was a complete fool with appalling taste. That was Raffi’s professional opinion, and she told Cris and Seven just that as she finished her third glass of that vibrant blue liquor that made green sparks when you shook it.

(What was it again? A Bajoran jungle beer?)

Cris snorted in his own glass, full of plain Earth liquor. Seven smirked as she gulped her cocktail down, an unholy mix that was part Klingon mead, part Romulan ale and part cranberry juice. The stuff of nightmares, honestly.

“I get drunk faster on synthehol,” Seven commented idly. “Don’t produce enough of the enzyme that breaks it down into smaller molecules. Hate the taste, though.”

“Yeah, because taste is clearly of capital importance to you,” Cris snorted again. “What’s in your glass right now? That’s toxic waste, that’s not a beverage.”

“Pssht,” she slurred. “First time I got drunk, it was after one flute of champagne. Forgive me for having learned to handle my drink.”

Raffi hazily smiled at her and got herself another drink, letting her head fall on Cris’ shoulder as she leaned against him for balance. She didn’t think she could sit up straight on her own anymore. Seven studied her intently, blinking in surprise when Cris showed no sign of discomfort and even shifted his posture so she’d be more comfortable. Noticing Seven’s stare, he gave her a wry look but made no complaint about his demotion to human pillow.

Seven was getting a bit intoxicated, so she watched them for a few more seconds and returned to her drink.

“You guys are cute,” she chuckled.

“Hmm,” Raffi mumbled in turn. “Cris is very sweet. Very very sweet. He’s the best.”

Rios was silently laughing, still nursing his aguardiente. “She gets sentimental,” he mouthed without making any actual sound, a smile in his normally dark eyes. Seven smiled too, because she was getting quite intoxicated. And also, they were very cute.

“Hey, how’d you two meet?”

The question had been on her mind for a while now, but aboard la Sirena, you didn’t ask about anyone’s past. They volunteered finite amounts of information, and you had to be content with that. But Cristóbal and Raffi had always felt like kindred spirits, despite knowing them for such a short time, far more than any of the others. Picard was an xB like her, sure, and he was also a damn idealist with a Messiah complex who understood very little about her. Soji had trouble with her humanity, yes, but she was also a kid and a synth, and she had siblings, and she was ultimately nothing like Seven. Agnes was tiny and mousy and probably no good in a fistfight, with just enough teeth to not get eaten, and eyes full of stars and a bleeding heart that hadn’t learned to put on a shell. Elnor was young and innocent and very dangerous, reminding her of the ‘Annika of old,’ someone long dead and buried.

But Raffi and Rios…

They were older, they were more jaded, they were disillusioned with a fleet, a Federation and a galaxy that had completely screwed them over – and they coped with it by helping, by drinking like idiots and smoking nasty stuff, and helping some more. They were both broken and aware of it, not like the shiny kids, and they never offered empty words of comfort or grand and hollow speeches about hope and love.

(And they were badass.)

(Like her.)

(Seven was getting very intoxicated.)

So she watched Raffi drunkenly lean on Rios and she asked, because while their friendship seemed self-evident, she wanted to know how they’d found each other. How it was that they each made the other a better person instead of dragging each other down. It tugged at her own soul, brought about some memories of Icheb, and Voyager, and of the Rangers before Bjayzl.

It made her smile.

Rios and Raffi exchanged puzzled glances. They were both too drunk to delve into her reasons for asking the question, and Raffi just pursed her lips, assuming that it came from finding their interactions cute.

“Don’t think I remember,” she told Seven blearily, still nestled against Cris. “It was a while ago. S- six? Seven? Six or seven years?”

“Eight,” Cris corrected. “I don’t really remember either. We must have met in a bar.”

Seven frowned, dimly disappointed. The feeling was too fuzzy to dwell on, but she still sniffed sadly.

“You don’t remember?” She asked mournfully. “I’d remember meeting my best friend.”

“We don’t,” Cris said, carefully shrugging the one shoulder that wasn’t supporting half of Raffi’s weight. “She hired me for a job or two, I think. Then we were mostly drinking buddies. It wasn’t spectacular or anything.”

“But something must have happened,” Seven pressed.

People didn’t just casually adopt each other. (Didn’t they? She wasn’t sure. She’d kind of casually adopted them, when she thought about it. Were giant galactic conspiracies, reclaimed broken Borg cubes and synthetic apocalypses casual? Seven was completely intoxicated.)

“Oh yeah,” Raffi mumbled. “Saved my life one time.”

“We were already friends though,” Cris elaborated, adding to Seven’s ever growing list of questions. “Got upgraded to honey and babe after that.”

“An’ you called me hermana,” Raffi sighed contently.

Seven looked back and forth between them.

“Okay, you have to tell me that story.”

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

“Raf,” Cris complained as she ordered her eighth drink of the night, “slow down on the drinks. You said you wouldn’t need to spend the night on my ship.”

“Piss off,” Raffi grumbled. “Don’t need your stupid ship. Don’t need your stupid hovering.”

Cris, because he was wise, never argued with Raffi. He didn’t try this time either. Muttering Spanish profanities under his breath, he got up and paced a bit, before throwing a credit chip at the bartender.

“If she spends it all, the rest is on her,” he told the Andorian.

The guy gave a noncommittal grunt, and Cris made his way to the exit. He was two steps from the door when he head a crash, the sound of a glass being smashed to the ground. He whirled around out of instinct, his hand going for his phaser. His eyes widened as he realized where the sound had come from.

Raffi was staring down at a Nausicaan twice her size (how?), the guy who’d been sprawled on of one of the corner sofas with his buddies up until a few moments ago. She was snapping at him – about what, Cris didn’t know, didn’t care – and the man looked ready to turn her into Raffi juice.

Cris ran to them without a second’s hesitation, heart seizing painfully as frozen sludge trudged through his veins instead of blood. There were ice spikes in his throat too.

“Hey,” he yelled, getting the Nausicaan’s attention, but not Raf’s, “hey! What’s going on here?”

“Get lost,” the man growled.

“No no no,” Cris refused, words tumbling out without him even knowing whether he was speaking Standard or Spanish. “Not doing that.”

“She you friend?” The Nausicaan asked as two of his own buddies slowly got up and walked to them, ready for a fight.

Raffi finally registered that Cris had come back and blinked in surprise.

“Yeah,” Cris gritted out, looking straight into the man’s eyes. “Yeah, she’s my friend. What’s the problem?”

“She needs to learn some manners.”

“Old news,” Cris muttered under his breath, but his gaze hardened and his hand went for his phaser again. “It’s fine, we’re leaving.”

“No, you’re not,” the second Nausicaan snorted, and the third one crossed his arms and smiled with that messed-up mouth of his.

“Your friend here should apologize to ours,” he leered. “And considering how rude she was, it’d better be a nice apology.”

“I’m not kissing his freak face,” Raffi spluttered. “I already told him!”

Cris would have facepalmed, except there really wasn’t time. Grabbing Raffi by the arm, he threw her behind him and pointed his phaser at the first Nausicaan.

“It’s not on stun,” he warned.

The man snorted derisively.

“I don’t much care,” he said, tapping a finger to his thick skin and metal plated clothing. And then he cracked his knuckles. “If you want to leave, you’ll have to make me allow it.”

Cris considered the mountain of muscles, the two goons behind it and the drunk Raffi behind him.

“Yeah, fuck that,” he muttered.

Whipping around, he snatched Raffi, threw her bony frame on his shoulder despite her vehement protests, and dashed for the exit. The Nausicaans were slower to react, but Cris’ superior speed wasn’t much of an advantage in a crowded bar where nobody cared enough to pay attention to the fight or help in any way. They had almost caught up with his by the time he reached the entrance.

So naturally, Cris did the only reasonable thing he could think of. He tossed Raffi out of the bar – the bar that was shielded against transporters for security reasons, like most of the buildings in the planet’s capital city – and barked an order into his communicator for Ian. The holo had been online dealing with an issue in the antimatter ignition chamber. As luck would have it, he hadn’t powered off yet, and Cris was gratified to see Raffi dissolve away.

And then he was pulled back and forced to turned around, and he was met with three very angry Nausicaans and the naked blades of their sword-sized daggers.

“Mierda,” Cris sighed.

“Shouldn’t have done that,” one of the men growled, and Cris had no idea if he was the first, the second or the third Nausicaan, because they all looked so damn alike. “You’re toast.”

Two of them had his arm in a duranium grip, making any escape attempt impossible.

“I told you, she’s my friend,” he said with defiant glare. “Go ahead.”

He didn’t care. They could drag it out, make it painful, make it frightening, but at the end of the day death was just the one comfort he’d been desperately awaiting for over a year now. He wouldn’t dream anymore if they pummeled him to death, and that was quite a reward for saving the life of his only friend.

(Maybe she’s miss him though. He didn’t think so. He hoped not. Raffi was too messed up on her own to add him to it.)

(Would she care? Please, let her not care.)

(He’d cared.)

(He’d cared that he had P— that he had somebody’s death on his head.)

(Please let Raffi not care.)

(She would care.)

Mierda, I can’t die.

The first kick slammed the air out of his lungs, snapping two of his ribs like twigs under a standard issue boot. It felt like he’d blacked out, but he couldn’t have – he hadn’t seen any bloody bulkheads.

The second kick caught him in the stomach and made him retch.

The third kick never came, because the transporter beam got him first. It took just long enough spiriting him away for one of the Nausicaan to throw one of his daggers though, leaving a bloody slash across Cris’ shoulder.

Cris materialized on la Sirena’s transporter pad, hurt and very confused, and was greeted by Raffi’s panicked face.

“Cris!” She yelped, falling to her knees next to him. “Are you alright?”

He groaned and tried to sit up, but his ribs wouldn’t allow so much moving around.

“Activate EMH,” he sighed.

It really fucking hurt.

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

“You didn’t say when you called her hermana,” Seven pointed out as Cris finished his slightly slurred tale. “Or when she called you honey.”

Raffi was half-asleep by that point, but she still somehow managed to retain enough coherence to mumble an answer. Cris heard it, and smiled at Seven.

“It was after. She was so upset over the whole thing that we both slept in her quarters. She got very fussy. Didn’t ever stop fussing after that.”

“And you called her hermana,” Seven insisted, because it was the best part.

“I was too tired to remember other words,” Cris said, sounding amused. “I think I was trying to say friend, or something like that. Y’know, to explain why I’d done it. But my Standard was all messed up.”

“You ever found out if she was the one who started the fight or if it was the horny Nausicaan?” Seven asked.

“Never,” he replied, finishing his last drink. “She couldn’t remember. I did bump into the same guy once after that. Used three phasers to stun his ass into a nice nap and dumped him at the local authorities’ doorstep for weapon trafficking.”

Seven smirked and raised her glass to that, the smirk turning into a fond look when Cris turned around to gather Raffi in his arms and gently lift her up her seat. As he carried her like that, Raffi’s head resting against his chest trustingly, Seven noticed how alike they looked.

“Space siblings,” she giggled.

(Seven was smashed.)

[ironforgedrp]

Hi! I'm a (hopefully) first time admin and I've got everything ready to go and set up but I'm really nervous that it won't get off the ground, and you guys have been open for so long do you have any tips for me how to make my RP be as successful as yours? It looks like such a good place, I hope it's not weird to ask this

        hi there friend,  thank-you so much for your compliments, and don’t stress… i’m happy to offer some advice, i’m no expert whatsoever but i’ve run a few roleplays over the past decade or so.    the key note firstly is to think of your RP as your kind of group ersatz family, as the admin you’re the head of that family.   you keep everyone on course, you’re the gatekeeper and it’s your standards that set the tone for what happens in your family’s house.  and i first want to tell you honestly that it is a little bit of a responsibility; you have to be willing to sort out problems, make decisions, mediate, diffuse and sometimes be on the receiving end of anon hate or the occasional jaded RPer, you have to be motivated and encouraging and dedicated -  but if you are, the people who you write and create with will give it back to you tenfold & it will never become a drag.    i hope this helps you a bit!

decide if you want a co-admin or you think you can handle it yourself - i personally have done solo-adminning, lead admin with moderators & co-adminned with up to four people. though i’ve found that, if you want to work with a team of mods/admins, having an odd number can be really helpful as you’re never tied.  also, if you decide to bring in a co-admin or moderator, have a clear idea of how you want to operate as a roleplay and what you expect of them as admins, and whether or not they have an equal say as you, the creator of the roleplay.  if they do, make that clear and if they don’t, make it clear what things you need to have a look over and what things they are able to handle alone (i.e. asks, applications, major plot changes).   honestly, the worst thing that can happen is if you’re not on the same page because it confuses you, them and your muns.

don’t jump the gun, patience is key.  if you’re hoping to have a long running roleplay then i would expect at least a month of work to be put into it before it’s trotted out, but it sounds like you’re already ready to go. make sure, before you open for activity, you have enough muns & characters to get the roleplay off to a healthy start and have the dash reasonably active.

set rules that are clear, but don’t be a dictator - make sure you have expressed clearly what your rules of conduct are (such as dash conduct, mun age restrictions [if any], activity standards, god-modding, banned/acceptable faceclaims, etc.)

set up an ads blog, and queue ads to post semi-regularly with varied but relevant tags and an eye-catching graphic &/or summary of your roleplay

set up a discord server or another way for your muns to communicate and plot OOC, it really helps muse and communication and also can be a fantastic way to build plots with existing characters and muns.  and, lets be honest, it’s nice to be able to chat with the folks you’re writing with.

check in with everyone! make sure your muns are comfortable and happy and no one is falling by the wayside or being left out. also, it’s nice to make sure that your muns are alright personally - by no means pry, but be an open ear if someone needs to talk. you’d be surprised how many in the RPC are often too shy or anxious to admit to an admin that they need time for their mental health, work, study, etc. but if you make it clear from the beginning that you actually do care and are willing to help work with people it makes all the difference.

the most important to me: build rapport!!!   the best thing for your roleplay, as an admin, is to do your absolute best to be approachable and have a relationship with your muns. you obviously don’t have to be best friends with everyone and talk every day, but believe me, what makes a roleplay last is the community you build behind it. i love having made such talented and varied friends in ironforged - we have voice chats and some of us facetime and/or text, we watch tv shows together and even help each other out with anything from personal problems to university assignments.  our community is  what helps us withstand all the trials and tribulations, and it’s what has given our roleplay such fantastic plot drops and progressions.  the main point is, from the get-go, make sure your muns know that your DMs are always open if they have questions, queries, rants, concerns, ideas… all of the above.

trigger warnings, which obviously depends on the genre you’re in but, i personally would suggest to offer your muns the ability to tell you what their triggers are privately and list them somewhere on the main blog for the other members to see.

embrace being an admin, and don’t get walked over. don’t forget that this is your roleplay, you created it and put the work in and no one (anon or not) can tell you how to run it. don’t be scared to call out people for breaking the rules, don’t be scared to issue warnings, don’t be scared to reject people if they haven’t read the rules or aren’t the right fit for your roleplay or make you uncomfortable, don’t be scared to say no.  it’s okay!

have open eyes, ears and mind; listen to feedback and concerns, hear out grievances and be willing to be polite even if people are being rude but don’t entertain pointless anon hate. speaking of anon hate… don’t turn off the anon ask option unless you honestly feel like it is the right route for you - it shuts off the ability for people to contact you whilst maintaining some anonymity and privacy, which can be discouraging.

crucial to any roleplay is the world-building, have a page with some key locations that are applicable to your roleplay (such as cafes, taverns, gyms, shops, housing locations), also i’ve honestly found that it helps setting the scene. consider where your roleplay is located (real place/fictional place) and make those details clear. paint the picture, immersion is a fantastic thing and it’s something both you and your muns can work on and collaborate on in the future. we have an inspo blog, pinterest boards, spotify playlists, youtube playlist, ambiance playlists, regional locations and business…. and a very colourful NPC list that has been collaborated and expanded upon throughout the life of ironforged.

have clear direction and at minimum a loose idea of where you want to go with your roleplay.  even if you don’t want to have a very plot driven roleplay (like ours is with plot drops, random events, character/mun interwoven plots - which requires a long-form type of roleplaying) and would rather have it open world (you set the scene, and everyone just goes with the flow - which can be both long or short form types of writing) - it is so important to have some tricks and surprises in your bag. the best and easiest is having a few muse-boosting tasks lined up, perhaps a group event to bring people together (a party, a fight, a ball, a wedding, etc.) otherwise, 8.5 times out of 10, you’ll find muse flatlining.  ask your muns! ask other rps! make a poll! hit up the RPC tags and roleplay helper blogs!

the finer details; pick a timezone to mark the roleplay with (eg; here i post in AEST on the roleplay because i am australian and it’s easy for me to queue and schedule things) but it’s crucial to ensure you include the timezone equivalent for other people in other timezones to be able to quickly understand (eg; AEST = GMT+10). you can always link an external timezone converter page if you’re unsure!

and, of course, be organised. make sure you have your pages set up and linked properly. the main that come to my mind to start off with are; navigation, plot, taken FCs, IC & OOC rules, a masterlist, blogroll/follow list, application/application page, application counts, ask & submit are open and an ooc page.

         and LASTLY,  this is my personal advice from one admin to another; if you really want a roleplay to work and you really want it to last for (hopefully) years, then you have to put some heart into it.  our roleplay, as a group, has seen some bad times and good times galore. we’ve had people become seriously ill, we’ve had engagements and weddings, graduations, a fair few birthdays, hospital trips/emergencies, international internships, personal problems, personal triumphs…  our communication as a roleplay isn’t always perfect, but we continue to do our best - and working on our communication is what allows us to keep going on through everything.

         also, as an admin, do your best to make sure you are not the most powerful character and not center of all the roleplays controversy, drama and plot drops (if applicable), it’s become a kiss of death cliche, and also can alienate potential muns because they feel like background players to your show.    but seriously, involve everyone and give a shout out for peoples interest, and the ideas that come flowing back from your muns will amaze you, trust me!

       best of luck!    admin tee.

[shen-gong-oops]

say your truth

Based on a book; Alternative Universe - Modern Setting; Clarke gets dumped but girl bounces back; Clarke's got some issues mentally btw; 19k +

Towards the beginning of summer, her boyfriend emails her stating it's best that they take a break from their relationship. His fellowship is in Africa and she's secretly a mess. In a spur of the moment decision, she ends up working for a catering company and oddly enough playing Truth like a pair of middle schoolers with one of her co-workers.

read on ao3

@bellarkebingo

The library was awful today. I know you love the job and I know I should be grateful for the opportunity but I just need to vent. Josephine was her usual Josephine self: spoiled, bratty, did everything she could to make me feel like less of a person. Everything I did had to be one upped by her. Or she had to make herself seem superior in every way. And Jade follows her around like a puppy. Whatever Josephine does, Jade does too. I know it’s childish and I know you have more important things to worry about than whether or not I’m making friends. It’s just lonely without you. Wells is so busy with Glass and you’re in Africa saving the world. I’ll get used to it. I know I will. Josephine and Jade won’t get to me. But I really wish you were here.

Love, Clarke

________________________________________________________________

Clarke hid in the back corner in the den nearest the bar waiting for Wells, and by extension Glass, to make their way to her. They had been stopped by a member of the council, probably inquiring about Wells’ summer internship at City Hall. Her friend, and by extension his date, were taking too long. She was dying out here. She had carefully navigated the waters, treading long enough to keep herself afloat. She spoke when spoken to, never engaging anyone herself. People asked about her summer job at the library; about her relationship with Cillian; about her pre-med courses at Sanctum State. Her responses carefully chosen. Each answer never giving a whole truth. She loved the library (truth) and working there was a dream come true (she wanted to claw her eyes out); she loved her boyfriend Cillian (truth) and loved how he was halfway around the world and living out his passion (she was proud of him, truly happy he was accepted into the fellowship but was Africa necessary?) She loved her pre-med course (complete lie, she contemplated lighting her textbooks on fire during the first week of school.)

Now if only Wells would leave Diana Sydney to her hor’ derves and come save a friend that would be great.

Looking about the room, she noticed a few men milling about on the other end of the bar. They were talking loudly about some college football game that one of them had lost a sizeable amount on when her mother made her way through the crowd to her.

“Party seems to be going well.” Clarke said, aiming for something pleasant.

Her mother shrugged, hand latching onto Clarke’s. She recognized a few of the men’s faces but could only name one: Marcus Kane. “The party would be better if the guests were being fed more. Do you mind checking how things are going?”

From the corner of her eye, Clarke could see the bartender’s hands clench around the neck of a bottle of Bordeaux. There were two servers on staff tonight carrying trays around, there was the bartender, and the very pregnant owner of the Dawn Catering Company, who was operating out of the kitchen. When they arrived, there was an issue on whether or not her mother had requested for someone from the catering company to man the bar. According to the owner Diyoza, her mother had insisted she retained another service for the bar but her mother insisted that she requested for Diyoza to provide the service. Even if the contract showed Diyoza was correct, one of the servers was relocated from milling about the floor to manning the bar.

“It’s fine.” Marcus said, leaning against the mahogany of the bar, “Bellamy here is fantastic at whipping up drinks. Can I have another by the way?”

Clarke made her way to the kitchen, weaving passed guests. Doing her best to dissuade anyone from striking up a conversation with her. She made it out of the den and into the hallway. She watched as the male server pushed open the kitchen door, silver tray of pigs-in-blankets in hand. The female server had her empty tray tucked under her left arm. She raced over. He picked a pig off of the tray and tossed it up into the air towards the female, who easily caught it in her mouth.

“Undefeatable.” She sung, pushing open the door to the kitchen.

Clarke entered slowly behind the girl. Watching as a heavily pregnant woman, her brown hair pulled into a low ponytail, stood in front of the oven pulling out a tray of cheese puffs. The girl stood by the counter armed with a spatula, swiftly plating something onto her tray. “You should have called Rae in. She would have helped.” The girl said.

“I wouldn’t do that to her.” The pregnant woman answered. She stood up straight, hand supporting the swell. “What I should have done was put Miller on tonight. But no, he had to go on vacation this week.”

The girl turned around with a refilled plate and noticed Clarke, “Do you need help? Bathroom is at the other end of the hall.” She said with a smile. Using her free hand she gestured left, “It’s opposite the den.”

The pregnant woman turned to face her. The top two buttons of her white blouse were popped open, a thin scar ran across the expanse of her neck. “She’s not happy?” Clarke shook her head.

The girl raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. The woman sighed, “O this is Clarke. Her mom is our employer.”

O’s lips pursed. “Oh.” She nodded before leaving the kitchen.

“I was anticipating having three servers tonight. I was anticipating Bell to be working the floor.” The bartender she assumed. The woman extended the spatula O had been using. “How good are you with a spatula?”

That’s how Clarke found herself in the kitchen rotating out trays of cheese puffs and crab cakes. Trays of pigs-in-blankets and jalapeño poppers. O, or Octavia, bounced in and out of the kitchen. A comment or two about a hunter or a gatherer. Murphy, the male server, would drop the tray onto the counter loudly and grumble about them fucking hunters and that next time Bell would be the one dealing with them and Murphy’d be on bar duty. Once he left, Diyoza informed her Murphy said that every time but Bellamy was the only one who ever manned the bar. Better with people than Murphy. And not as chatty as Octavia.

Adding in a new tray of crab cakes, Octavia stormed in followed by Murphy. Both with matching dark red stains on their white button-ups. “Drunk hunters are the absolute worst.”

The door to the kitchen opened, Abigail Griffin now entering. Octavia’s eyes widened as she dragged Murphy over to the sink, distracting herself with dabbing at their stains. Her mother’s eyes were narrowed in annoyance but when she noticed Clarke in front of the oven she cocked her head to the side in confusion. “Clarke?”

“I had questions about the world of catering.”

Her mother nodded, letting out a sigh. Before she could say anything Diyoza stepped away from the counter. “Is there a problem?”

Her mother and Diyoza discussed the lack of food offered to the guests and how both servers were chatting causing them to bump into one of her guests. Diyoza turned her head to look at the pair.  A silent conversation happening amongst them.

“I have wine now on a guest and my carpet.”

Her mother walked out of the room, pointedly asking if Clarke would be returning to the party.

“We weren’t talking. I was out of napkins and stole a few from Murphy’s plate.” Octavia explained. Their shirts now a purple color.

Diyoza thanked Clarke for her help. The woman all but shoved her out the door, telling her to enjoy herself. “Ever want a job in catering you’re welcome to call me. Always need another.”

________________________________________________________________

She sat on her balcony. She could see the caterers packing up their van. Octavia walked alongside a male pushing a server cart. “It took me a bit to recognize Clarke, the girl helping Diyoza.” Octavia’s low was low but carried through the quiet night. “You remember her?”

“I don’t think so.” She watched as the male slowly loaded the cart into the back of the van. She hadn’t recognized the deep baritone voice. Bellamy she presumed.

“You definitely do.” Octavia countered, “Her dad-” Clarke pulled her knees closer into herself. Bracing herself for the comment. Everyone made the same one. While she should be used to it by now, the pain was still raw. But Octavia was different “-volunteered at the soup kitchen on Walden, remember?”

It took a beat before Bellamy spoke. “Tall, blond guy? He’d give us extra bread rolls?”

“Yeah… those were some great bread rolls. The highest quality bread rolls.”

It looked like Bellamy nodded but she couldn’t be sure. He closed the door to the van after everything was packed. His head turned to look back at the house, and for a moment his eyes met hers. “I don’t think they were the highest quality bread rolls. Not like we had much to compare to.”

________________________________________________________________

Clarke,

I have written and rewritten this email several times so I apologize for taking time to respond.

In your past emails you’ve written about your disinterest working at the library. Talking about how you haven’t bonded with your coworkers but yielded unnecessary pettiness at one another. At least you acknowledged the childish nature in your last email. I wonder if you are taking your job at the library seriously and hope that in light of what I need to say you will remain there, and dedicated to your work.

Then there is your growing reliance on me as portrayed in your last email. Our expectations for this relationship appear to be different. I believe a break from both each other and our relationship would be best. It will allow for us to understand what we want for ourselves and for our relationship. We are entering into our senior year and this crucial year will affect proceeding into medical school the following year. We both need to be determined and diligent in our work and I am unsure if we continue with your relationship that will be possible. I hope you understand this is the best option.

I will be back stateside in early August. We can convene then to discuss if continuing our relationship is what’s best.

Cillian

________________________________________________________________

Her day at the library had been like every other. Another day spent contemplating jumping out a window. In true Josephine fashion, she went out of her way to make Clarke out to be an invalid, incapable of handling the most menial of tasks. They only duties Josephine deemed her smart enough to handle was emptying out the outdoor bin where people could return their books or changing the posters for upcoming events in the entryway. A person had come up to her, asking about books options but Josephine made a show about how Clarke wouldn’t know anything. “Just a trainee.” Clarke wanted to smack that sugary-sweet smile off of Josephine’s face. Apparently, she and her fiance were having issues.

Cillian’s email left her feeling numb.

Her house was empty, her mother called away for a weekend long conference upstate. Her home felt cold and quiet, like a mausoleum. Sure, she and her mother hadn’t had a well and true conversation since the accident. Mainly they spoke about Abby’s job and Clarke’s pre-med courses. Both carefully tiptoeing around the other but at the moment the stillness was unbearable. Clarke needed to get out, suffocating in the silence. She climbed into her car and drove. No destination in mind.

A break. Cillian wanted a break. Sometime to find themselves, to find what they wanted in life. The pause button hit on their relationship. Breaks were never good. Simply a means to delay the inevitable break-up.

A break. What were they the dysfunctional Ross and Rachel?

When the light turned red, she heaved an exasperated sigh. She rested her forehead against the steering wheel for a beat, her eyes drifting upwards just enough to see the road. She thought they were strong going into this summer apart. The loneliness was expected. She was always lonely. Had been for a few years now. But she was wrong. Had he met someone else? She wouldn’t blame him if he did. She wasn’t the same wide-eyed girl she was in her juvenescence. The light inside her diminished the night his heart stopped beating. Cillian made her feel alive, for a few passionate moments, before she fell back into the darkness of the world. They weren’t strong enough- she wasn’t strong enough.

The streetlight reflected off of a white van a row over and two cars up. The van stopped before making a right on red. On the back of the van was a rising sun. Instead of a straight line for the horizon, it had three curving lines in varying greens, blues, and pinks. An aurora borealis. The Dawn Catering Company.

Once the light changed, Clarke followed after the van. It made a left and then a right at the stop sign before continuing down the winding road coming to a stop at Arrow Manor in the historic district.

She drove passed the van three times debating whether or not to pull over. On the fourth try she did. Her hand hovered over the door’s handle. Taking a breath, she willed herself out of the car. The van was parked about twenty feet away, both back doors wide open. The back looked half empty. A server’s tray was placed onto the ground beside the bumper.

“Can I help you?” Beside her, a woman stood with a hand on her leg brace. Dark brown hair pulled tight into a ponytail. Her brown eyes narrowed. Clarke never thought she’d see those brown eyes again.

Raven Reyes. Maybe this was a bad idea.

“I was looking for Diyoza.”

Arms crossing at her chest, Raven nodded her head towards the building. “Kitchen’s in the back.”

A few moments of tension passed between the two of them. Murphy grumbling about serving forks broke silence.

“I didn’t realize you worked for Diyoza.” Clarke vaguely remembered Octavia mentioning someone named Rae could have helped the night of their party.

“I think you’ll understand why I didn’t want to work last weekend.” A hand rested on Raven’s shoulder. Her dropped to her arms to the side, eyes growing soft. It had been two years. Two years since Clarke found out her first boyfriend post-accident had made her the other woman. Broke up an engagement.

The brace was new. The only time she saw Raven, the other stood in a little black dress and wearing a pair of white Chuck Taylors. The woman had a white sash that read ‘Head Bitch in Charge’. She was out with friends celebrating getting an internship. Ended up drunk on Clarke’s front porch demanding if she was seeing a Finn Collins. Now that she thinks about it, Octavia may have been the girl to drag Raven from the property before anything else happened.

“What’s up?” Murphy asked, dropping his chin onto the other’s shoulder. Raven tried to move out of the way but Murphy stayed with her. Following everywhere Raven moved. The other woman chuckled, gently knocking her head against his. “Diyoza is in the kitchen silently freaking out. O washed the utensils last night and probably forgot the serving forks.”

Raven rolled her eyes, hand pressing against her thigh. She lifted herself into the back of the van to search.

“It’s not like O forgot your supposed to put them-”

“Got ‘em.”

Murphy groaned, cursing Octavia’s name. Clarke followed Murphy and Raven up to the building. Diyoza stood in front of the stoves sliding three trays of meatballs onto the rack. Diyoza sees her and laughs. “Come to see the inner workings of the world of catering again?”

Clarke cut off anything else Diyoza could have said. “Did you mean it? When you offered me a job?”

The woman didn’t say anything. Her blue eyes scanning Clarke from head to toe. Maybe this was a bad idea. First rash decision she had made since- jumping into bed with Finn. She shouldn’t. She had already been struggling to stay afloat. The email felt like an anchor wrapping around her ankle.

Never saying yes or no, Diyoza explained the typically clothing attire for servers. White dress shirt and either black slacks or a black skirt. She discussed when Clarke would be paid, when Clarke would get her work schedule, emphasized Clarke would be joining a hectic world.  At the library, she was put through an extensive training course. With Dawn Catering, she jumped headfirst into shark infested waters.

Diyoza called Raven over. The other lifted up an empty server’s tray, balancing it with the left hand. “Firstly, make sure your tray is clear of used napkins at all times.” Murphy balled up a napkin and chucked it at Raven. Without batting an eye, Raven caught the napkin on the tray easily. “No one wants to eat off a gross ass tray.” She then flicked her wrist listlessly, tossing the balled up napkin in a perfect arc towards the garbage bin.

“Gross ass.” Murphy repeated.

“Two,” To emphasize her part, Raven held up two fingers, “you don’t matter. You are a spec in the carpet. A shadow on the wall. Hold out your tray, paste a stupid smile on-” Diyoza coughed and sent a glare at Raven, “and ask if they want whatever shit is on your plate.”

Diyoza grumbled to herself, turning from the oven. “Please do not say it like that. Yes, you are not a guest of the party. You are hired to facilitate it, not enjoy it. Smile and make sure to clearly state what is on your tray. Even if you have- I don’t know gelite fish and uh haggish, say you have gelite fish and haggish.”

Murphy held his empty tray towards Clarke. “Care for a shitball.”

“Hey! Aurora’s meatballs are divine!” While she sounded affronted, Diyoza still laughed, chucking a napkin at his head. Aurora? Was there another owner?

Raven walked over to the counter, plating meatballs onto her tray. She placed a small square of napkins onto the tray. She held the tray out to Clarke. Raven grumbled, the side of her fist pounding against the metal of her brace. She bent her knee slightly before extending it four times. Clarke didn’t mean to stare but the brace took up a substantial part of Raven’s leg. She wanted to ask if Raven would be okay but Clarke held her tongue. She assumed the other would be fine, it was her job.

“Murphy you’re on champagne.” Diyoza called over her shoulder, gesturing to the crate in the corner. “Stemless flutes.” Murphy sighs before walking over to the crates.

Raven has a tray of poppers. She holds out the tray towards Clarke. “To avoid gatherers, once a person takes two things off your plate, walk away.” Gatherers? “Two and done. Otherwise they’ll pick you clean.”

Murphy, now armed with a tray of filled stemless champagne flutes. “If they don’t let you leave they become hunters and hunters are assholes. Elbow them or knee 'em in the dick.”

“Please don’t do that.” Diyoza grumbled.

Raven leaned against the door leading from the kitchen, not putting enough pressure to open it. “If you do a walkthrough and your tray ain’t going, don’t push it. Come back and get something else. I’d recommend swapping for meatballs but you already got 'em.“ Raven used her hip to push open the door. Silently telling her to keep her chin up.

"Don’t forget to feed the old people!” Murphy called out.

Murphy and Raven flowed through the ballroom. The blushing soon-to-be bride plucking a champagne flute from Murphy’s tray without turning away from the group she spoke with. A male tried to corner Raven with her poppers, a hunter. She simply opened her hips wider and limped in the opposite direction. Two and move, right. Holding her chin up, Clarke worked her way around the room. She nearly bumped into one of the bridesmaids before even one meatball was taken from her tray. Raven gripped Clarke’s forearm, pulling her gently from where the bridesmaid stood wobbling in her too tall heels.

She makes it around the room without any huge complications. She angles the tray too much when allowing for one of the elderly women to pick from the meatballs. Nearly got cornered a few times by hunters and gatherers. During her second tour around the room, this time with ham biscuits, she did bump into one of the guests. He gesticulated wildly as she passed, smacking her right in the face. Her grip on the tray slipped. A few biscuits slid off but they never reached the floor. Instead they landed on Murphy’s now empty server’s tray.

He maneuvered himself swiftly through the crowd. “You get used to this.” He whispered as he passed, returning to the kitchen to stock up on more champagne flutes. She couldn’t imagine getting so used to catering that she’d know exactly when a mistake would happen. When hor’ derves would hurtle down to the floor.

By the end of the party, they had narrowly avoided the soon-to-be bride having a breakdown. The napkins weren’t to her liking. The engaged couples’ names were followed by an ellipsis, implying that there could be an ending to their happiness. She did pretty well for at most three minutes of training if she did say so herself. The majority of her training came from being on the floor. Gatherers tend to stand closest to the doors. Getting their pick of the platter. Hunters were easy to spot. Certain gatherers carried themselves differently. Shoulders rolled back. Their hips squared. They stood like a wall, whether consciously or unconsciously, to prevent the server from traveling too far. Two and go, that’s it. Two and go.

Diyoza thought she had done well. So that was a plus. Asked for Clarke to call her on Monday to setup a schedule if she was interested.

It was a whole new experience being a caterer at a party. Growing up she had attended several high end parties a year: typically fundraisers for anything and everything. For once, no one tried seeking her out at this party. She was one with the wall. And no one cared to hold their tongues around walls. She knew more about this random family than she knew about her own family.

Amidst packing the van, a horn behind them beeped in a rhythmic pattern. “Did she-” Murphy started but never finished his sentence.

“Guys I got wheels!” Octavia cheered, jumping from the front seat. “Your girl finally got a car.”

Diyoza waddled over, hand on her stomach. “You bought an ambulance?”

“I bought the only car to embody my personality. It’s a statement, like I am.”

“Statement alright.” Raven walked over. She placed her hand on the hood of the vehicle and chuckled. “You would buy an ambulance.”

Bellamy climbed out of the passenger seat as everyone milled about observing the car. Octavia, noticing Clarke for the first time, raced over to her, “Clarke! Do you like it? My new car is refurbished and ready to take the world by storm. Bell,” she stopped talking for a moment to point him out “my brother over there, was against it but I think it’s original!”

“It’s also final sale.” Bellamy tacked on. He walked around to the back of the vehicle, throwing open the doors. Without a word being said, he held out his hand and helped Raven climb into the bed. Murphy quickly following after. He looked over at her and pointed to the back of the ambulance with his chin, “You in?”

Octavia began explaining they were heading down to the Ridge, Bellamy vehemently denied they were going there but Octavia ignored him. Clarke tried to answer the other, but anything she could of said felt trapped in her throat.

Looking at the ambulance brought back memories. The ice on the road. The brakes squealing. The world blending together in a hue of dark swirls as the car careened off the road. The fencepost. She could feel the air leaving her lungs as they did that night. Did the airbags deploy? She believed they did. The next half hour was a blur. But she remembered the fluorescent lights beaming down on her. Remembered the two bodies hovering over her. Her voice hoarse as she called out for her dad but never received an answer.

She hadn’t noticed Bellamy swiftly moving over to her. His voice was soft as he said her name. Everyone quietly watching what was going on.

“Sorry just tired. It was a long day at work and then coming here.” There she went lying again. “Think I’m going to head home for the night. Sleep it off.” She made her way back to her car but didn’t leave right away. She watched as Bellamy walked Diyoza back to her car. His aunt teasing him about something before affectionately messing up his already messy curls. He helped her into the van before jogging back over to the ambulance. Octavia waved goodbye as she pulled from the curb, calling out that she’d see Clarke for their next gig.

She made it back home in under thirty minutes. She hadn’t even realized she hadn’t thought about that damned email all night.

_______________________________________________________________

Catering was interesting to say the least. Diyoza ran the business like a tight ship. They had lists upon lists of things needed for each job and who was in charge of packing said things. They had a breakdown of whose turn it was to drive the van, whose turn it was to be on clean up tray - walking around collecting used glasses and napkins. No one wanted to do it, hence the need to rotate people through the position. A list for who was on liquids. Clarke only recently got put into liquid rotation. Octavia’s name was permanently stricken from the list apparently. A list for who did what during dinner.

If something needed to be done, Diyoza had a breakdown for it.

Didn’t prevent accidents from happening. One thing she learned from catering was how to get a stain out of a white blouse. Also to have an extra white blouse. During a 50th anniversary party, a drunk son of the couple had bumped into (read: laid out) Nathan Miller, another employee of the catering company, who happened to be on liquids that night. Clarke unknowingly passed by to help one of the gentlemen from his seat and ended up with chilled rosé dripping down her sternum.

The previous night while serving dinner, a little boy knocked over ranch dressing onto Raven’s slacks, thankfully avoiding the brace.

Mishaps happened but for some reason she enjoyed the chaos. As weird as it sounded, it reminded her she was alive. For once she wasn’t just going through the motions. Catering, and the subsequent mishaps, provided a break from her regularly scheduled life.

Was it bad that she preferred the chaos?

After every gig with Dawn Catering, Octavia asked if Clarke wanted to join the crew going out to some bar. Usually she said the Ridge and Bellamy would pop out of nowhere to tell her no. Octavia would just smile at Clarke and wink. Each night Clarke would decline. She hadn’t told her mom or Wells about her second job yet. Didn’t want to raise any flags on where she had been. Her mom had worked late the past few days and she used being at Wells as an excuse for being out tonight. She knew she shouldn’t push it but for the first time she agreed, only if she rode in Murphy’s car instead of Octavia’s.

She found herself squeezed between Octavia and Murphy in a booth at some dive bar off the main road. Murphy slid from the seat to grab a round, stopping by the pool table to ask what Miller and Bellamy wanted. Turns out One Drink Octavia is similar to Just Off Shift Octavia ranting about the hunters and gatherers. Two Drink Octavia challenged people to arm wrestling matches but Three Drink Octavia ranted about the bar’s lack of eligible men. She had a list of requirements the men unknowingly did not hit.

“These men suck.” Octavia grumbled, tossing back her vodka cranberry. “Should have gone to the Ridge.”

“Date women.” Raven responded, propping her braced leg up onto the leather seat.

“See any good candidates? Any good prospects?” Octavia turned her attention to Clarke, “For me the pools pretty shallow. Sadly, Miller seems to be my most viable option and that’s not going to work.” Raven chuckled from her seat muttering about growing a dick.

Clarke wasn’t much of a drinker. She nursed her hard apple cider feeling the buzz. “I’m sort-of dating someone.”

Octavia nearly bounced out of her seat, “Oh, I figured you were spoken for, didn’t I?” Raven simply nodded, dropping her head onto the back of the booth’s seat.

“Cillian and I are taking a break.”

Raven’s head shot back up at that, “Finn decided we were on a break when he met you. Never decided to tell me about the break though. Breaks are never good.” Octavia shook her head in silent agreement.

Clarke took a sip from her bottle, swirling the remaining liquid around. “Cillian and I just need some time to find ourselves and what we mean to each other. At the end of the summer we’ll discuss whether or not we want to continue our relationship. In an email, I overstepped on what he and I were-”

“Elaborate on overstepped.” Raven said, draping an arm over her eyes. The dim lights of the bar getting to her.

Your growing reliance on me. Our expectations for this relationship appear to be different. The sentences repeated in her head over and over. “I wasn’t focused on my job. I focused more on trivial things. And in an email I told him I missed him and how I loved him-”

Octavia basically sat in Clarke’s lap at this point, Octavia’s warm hands seizing Clarke’s ice cold ones. “He dumped you for saying you loved him?” She wasn’t dumped, they were on a break but Clarke simply nodded in response. That wasn’t the full story behind her relationship status but ultimately if one was to summarize what led to their break, saying love was the tipping point. “I thought Atom ghosting me right before he was supposed to come home for Thanksgiving with me was bad. Why wait until the end of the summer? Dump his ass and then punch him in the dick like Raven should have.”

Raven raised a thumb up in agreement. “Make the shithead sterile.”

Miller, Murphy, and Bellamy walked over with the drinks joking about something. Clarke’s back stiffened in the seat, not wanting to continue the conversation but Octavia had already moved on from Clarke’s relationship. She played with the curled end of Clarke’s hair. A woman Calrke recognized stood near their table, finger pointed at her in question. “Clarke Griffin, right?”

“Yes.” She mumbled quietly.

The woman’s blonde hair was longer and messier but they had gone to high school together. Had been co-presidents of the art club. They almost dated in sophomore year. “I thought so. I was with my friends over there and was like that’s Clarke!” Apparently Niylah was not very good at handling her alcohol. “Did you ever get into that art school in California? Painting and graphic design right?”

All eyes turned towards Clarke. If only she could shrink down into the bottom of the bottle and hide. “I ended up not going for art.”

“Really? Her paintings were so lifelike. Drew on everything, to the point where she could have even forgotten to write her name on a test and the teachers still would know it was Clarke’s. I loved that mural you did for the winter musical. Insane. She could have been in a museum!” One of Niylah’s friends ran over and tugged her by the arm, apologizing for the disturbance.

The table was silent for a bit and Clarke wished once more to shrink, this time into nothing. Murphy broke the silence by saying, “She was sloshed.”

“Extremely.” Bellamy agreed, tipping his drink back. One of the guys near the pool table called over to Miller, saying it was his turn. He forced Bellamy out of the booth and told Murphy to get up.

She watched Miller and Bellamy play against a pair. Miller getting in two stripes after the break. The game went on for a few minutes before Clarke quietly asked, “Why did you assume I was seeing someone?”

Octavia tilted her head to the side questionly before smiling and pointing at Bellamy, “Because I figured if you were single, you’d be asking about him. The curse of Aurora’s genes. She made attractive babies.” Aurora was her, and Bellamy’s, mother? The woman with the meatball recipe? “When I was in sixth grade, he was a senior and every girl in my grade seemed to have a crush on my brother. Him and his stupid motorcycle.”

“I got to ride both.” Octavia turned to glare at Raven. “I said what I said.”

Apparently, One Drink Raven didn’t have a filter, Two Drink Raven was tired and still no filter but Three Drink Raven had no filter in regards to who she slept with.

“Hey Michelangelo!” Bellamy called, leaning against the pool table. Did he just? “We need another, you in?”

Octavia rolled her eyes and Raven slumped over, head on her friend’s shoulder. “You almost lobotomize your brother once and he never plays pool with you again.”

“I’m drunk. I should not have pre-gamed.” Raven grumbled. So More Than Three Drink Raven?

Clarke walked over to the pool table. Murphy and Miller standing on one side, Bellamy on the other. “Did you call me Michelangelo?”

Bellamy shrugged, rubbing the small cube of chalk on the cue’s tip. “Seemed appropriate for an esteemed artisan such as yourself.” With a smirk and a wink he lined up for the break. “You’re with me. The last names want to beat me.”

“You cheated last time.” Miller chucked a peanut from the basket on the table beside him at Bellamy. “You didn’t call the last ball before the eight ball.”

Murphy dropped himself into the seat, leaning back to prop himself up against the wall. “If I asked you to ‘paint me like one of your French girls’ what would you say?”

She grabbed a cue off the rack on the wall, resting against the surface with her hip. “First of all I don’t paint anymore. Probably can’t even make a circle now.” The group seemed surprised by her statement. “Second, if I had my palette knife I’d stick it in your eye.”

________________________________________________________________

She was on liquids that night with Miller. He was circling the main room while Clarke was working through the country club’s old smoking and brandy rooms. Her mom had called her earlier that afternoon, while she was at Octavia and Bellamy’s acting as a doll to the former. Octavia did Clarke’s hair and makeup because you’re my friend and I do all my friends up. She felt Octavia had other reasons for the impromptu makeover but she was tired and annoyed and being pampered made her feel great.

Bellamy simply chuckled when he walked out of the shower shirtless to see Octavia fighting Clarke’s tangles.

She didn’t stare, excuse you. Well not that long at least.

She felt different walking about the room with her hair done. Octavia sectioned half her hair into a braided crown. The other half she left down in bouncy, barrel curls. The braid was decorated with white flower hair pins. Her face felt like a walking ad for Ulta Beauty. How was she supposed to blend in when she looked like this?

She had two glasses left on her tray when Bellamy flagged her down from his post at the bar. “Guys over there wanted refills. You mind bringing them over to ‘em.” He raised his chin towards the group near the mantle. She grabbed at the whiskeys sitting on the bar, placing them on her tray. “Oh, your mom is in the main room. Came by while you were in the kitchen. Asked for something with cucumber vodka.” He spread his hands out, gesturing to the selection of liquors behind the bar. “Does this look like a place where you have cucumber vodka?”

Her mom was here? Her mom was at the party? Her mom drank flavored vodka?

“Settled on a gin martini.”

Clarke looked up at the group near the mantle. One of the men shifted in his stance, allowing Clarke of view of his face. Fuck that was Kane. She raced behind the bar fully ready to hide for the rest of the party when she heard someone call out her name. She knew that voice, it tortured her everyday at the library.

“Blonde?” she mouthed, not turning to face the voice. Bellamy looked beyond Clarke, over her shoulder and nodded.

“Coming this way.” he mumbled, busying himself with cleaning a tumbler.

A left hand came to rest on her shoulder, diamond ring sparkling under the bar’s overhead lights. “Your mom said you were meeting up with friends from Sanctum State.” Josephine leaned on her elbows against the bar in a shimmering evening gown. “Didn’t realize you worked as a caterer.” The other’s voice condescending. She made a point of glancing down at Clarke’s tray and then taking in Clarke’s attire. “White blouse and black slacks, timeless.”

Josephine closed her eyes, stretching her neck back and forth. “The guy on hor’ derves in the other room is pretty cute. Can understand why you took another job.” Josephine disregarded Bellamy’s presence and took a tumbler of whiskey off the tray. “Mommy doesn’t know about your side hustle does she?”

Her mom was here. Kane was here. Josephine was here.

Bellamy filled another tumbler with whiskey on the rocks and placed it on the tray. “Sorry to interrupt but Diyoza needs you in the kitchen.”

Taking the opening, Clarke sped over to the men by the mantle. She kept her head down, eyes averted to the floor. Kane, who either didn’t pay attention to her or picked up on the fact she was uncomfortable, never acknowledged her. Twenty feet to the stairs, and then another thirty to the kitchen. She could make it. Three steps down the stairs she heard her mother’s voice. “Clarke?”

Taking a deep breath, Clarke turned around to face her mother. “I thought that was you.” Her mother stepped up to the top of the stairs. “I like the braid. Did your college friends do it?” Her mother’s voice fell flat, her eyes apathetic.

“Mom, I-”

“I saw the Kepas. They’re out in the main room.” Of course Cillian’s parents would be here. Her freaking luck. “Imagine my surprise when they asked how you were doing after the break-up.”

“We’re on a break. We’re not broken up.” She felt like a broken record making the distinction.

Her mother didn’t appreciate the clarification. She twirled one of the barrels curls around her fingers, “So you’re on a break and you’re working as a caterer. Anything else? Any piercings? A tattoo? Maybe a motorcycle?” Even if she was being reprimanded, when her mother mentioned the motorcycle, her brain instantly pictured Bellamy standing beside a Harley.

“No.” She felt like she was four again and got caught trying to run away. She wanted to sleep in the backyard after the snow fell but her parents told her no. Four year old Clarke packed up her backpack with her favorite stuffed animals, grabbed her blanket, and decided she would be running away to her playset. While it hadn’t taken her parents long to find her, she didn’t listen or wear her coat. The time out was terrible.

Dropping the curl, Abigail Griffin asked if her daughter would be coming home later. “I thought you were staying at your friend Octavia’s but apparently I was misled.”

“I am.” Clarke started. “Staying at Octavia’s. She just happens to work for the catering company. Her aunt is Diyoza.”

Her escape from life; her chaos in a mundane existence was no longer her secret. Her coworker knew, her mother knew, her mother’s best friend probably knew.

“You are still at the library, right? You made a commitment to the position-”

“I am.” Even if she hated it. Even if she wanted to quit everyday. Even if Cillian may not be committed to her anymore. “This is a side job.”

Her mother still looked indifferent, maybe even disappointed. During Spring Break, Abby encouraged Clarke to participate in an internship at Arkadia General Hospital under the guidance of Dr. Tsing. She hadn’t taken the library job at this point but had been speaking with Cillian about possibly filling in his shoes. Her reasoning for passing on the internship had been fearing she wasn’t comfortable enough with what she had learned in her courses to handle treating living patients. And while Abby believed the internship to be an opportunity to build off her educational foundation, understood Clarke’s apprehension.

Too bad Clarke was lying to her mother again.

________________________________________________________________

The van ran out of gas somewhere just east of nowhere and just north of looks to be no life on this highway. O chucked the keys at Bellamy the moment the job was over, jumping into the back of Raven’s car immediately. They were meeting up with a few people. While she agreed to this group date during the job, Clarke needed a bit to clear her head. She offered to ride with Bellamy back to Diyoza’s house, giving her some time to collect herself.  After the evening she had she needed to go out.

It wasn’t cheating. Cillian had officated a break. She and her friends could go out with a few guys. That was allowed. They are on a break. And she stopped all train of thought when she realized she sounded like Ross Geller.

Conveniently that was also when the van stopped because O forgot to put gas in the vehicle.

They opted to hiked down the darkened road, hoping to come across a gas station after calling everyone who could come get them. No one answered. O and Raven were on the group date; Miller was meeting up with his boyfriend for a Netflix marathon; Diyoza had left Bellamy in charge halfway through the job, after getting sick in the bathroom for a solid half hour; and Murphy, well he was Murphy. Did he own a phone?

Tempted to call her mother or Wells, she ultimately put her phone away. She wasn’t ready to give up her secret just yet.

She didn’t know how but somehow they had gotten into a handful of arguments over asinine things, such as if truly Dr. Manhattan was the superhero we deserve and then who was treated worse: the dog at the beginning or John Wick or Peggy Carter’s children and grandchildren post Endgame? The arguments were silly and she found herself laughing - like doubled over, hand clenching stomach laughing - for the first time in what felt like an eternity.

"I think we may be lost.” Bellamy muttered, glancing down at this phone. The brightness of his phone illuminated his face in a blue glow. His jawline more pronounced when covered in shadows.  Her eyes darted away quickly, glancing down at her own phone instead. She was not going down that path.

No new messages.

A few minutes passed before they got into another argument this time over how to pass the time. Bellamy, who is an actual nerd and that is amazing, kept recommending word games. His favorite game being where you have a four letter word and have to make a new word by changing only one letter. Clarke jokingly offered they could play Truth instead. She regretted it. Bellamy, after getting the rundown on the game, was adamant on playing. She hated Truth. The last time she played it was at Glass’ house in ninth grade where she was coerced into admitting she was bisexual.

“What’s your favorite color?” Clarke asked, leaning herself closer to him.

“Boo. Give me an actual question. None of that baby shit.”

She chuckled, explaining she merely wished to ease him into the game but he shook his head vehemently. He wanted to experience the game full on. “Still going to be a bit of an easy one okay? Why are you so against the Ridge? It’s just a bar.”

In the dark, she could make out Bellamy turning to face her. “Really? Okay.” He then turned back to face the road. “Octavia had us all go out for her twenty-first. We usually go to this other place but they’ve been under the impression O was already legally able to drink so we went to the Ridge instead. She ended up in a bar fight armed with a toothpick for a sword and almost died from alcohol poisoning. Woke up in the hospital with a huge smile on her face and said she wanted to do it again.”

She heard Bellamy clap his hands once and then turn back to her, “Unlike you I’m going full in, what’s up with the boyfriend?”

Clarke looked down towards her feet. He had heard some of her conversation with O and Raven. She honestly didn’t know how to explain her relationship with Cillian. “We’re not together but we’re not, not together. We’re on a break currently.” she started. “Before the break, he was annoyed with how I wasn’t taking my job - which was his job prior to his fellowship - seriously. How I spent my emails complaining about my coworkers’ gross treatment of me like a petulant child.” Cillian thought she wasn’t committed to the job as he was. Her relationship with her coworkers shouldn’t influence her ability to perform her duties. He was under the impression that if she were truy doing her job she wouldn’t have time to make nice or even converse with her coworkers.

“Then my emails showed how much I missed him and I- I got too clingy. He was my first decent relationship since I-” she stopped for a moment, trying to figure out her wording. She wanted to say the accident, she truly did but she couldn’t get the words out. “I graduated from high school. I relied too much on him. He’s top of the pre-med class. Really passionate about the field. We met in our Biology 101 class. He has this way of explaining everything and you just get it, you know? I had always been good at school but freshman year of college I felt out of my element. Cillian had this way of making everything seem easier.“

She turned to Bellamy for an acknowledgement but he was watching her instead. "I found it sweet. This attractive guy who didn’t need to, went out of his way to help me.”

Bellamy was silent. The only noise being their feet against the pavement. After a minute or two, he placed a hand on her shoulder. “Still sounds like a dick regardless.”

Clarke’s head whipped around. Her hair ended up in Bellamy’s mouth and she heard him cough for a moment. Oops. She had given Bellamy the bare bones of their relationship leading up to her and Cillian’s break, and that was his response. It made sense, he didn’t understand everything. “A dick?”

“People complain about scenarios they don’t like. Especially when other people aren’t treating them right. That happens, it’s human. And missing your boyfriend who’s, in some place I don’t actually know-”

“Africa” she supplied.

“And missing your boyfriend who’s in Africa because he’s in Africa is again normal. It’s again human. He’s a dick for not appreciating that.”

Bellamy’s hand squeezed her shoulder and she found herself leaning into his touch. Her cheek pressing gently against the back of his hand. Human. Her hand reached up to rest on top of his. She closed her eyes, allowing her feet to carry her down the road.

Bellamy’s jaw tightened, going over something in his head. Clarke wanted to press him, they were playing Truth for fucks sake. He could say what he had on his mind, but ultimately she opted not to. “Did you tell him about working with us?“

"No… for once this job was something that was just mine. My relationship went out the window this summer, my social life is tragic, and my work life sucked. I- I liked having something good. So I kept it to myself, at least for a little bit.

"Now getting away from me please. I’m going to piggyback off what you asked: what’s up with your girlfriend?”

Bellamy’s hand left her shoulder, dropping down by his side. “Last or current?”

He had a girlfriend? Octaia hadn’t mentioned anything about that the other night. The woman was probably model pretty, if his interest in Raven was any indication. Clarke’s heart sped up just imagining what the woman would look like. Of course he had a girlfriend. He was a good-looking guy, it made sense that he had a girlfriend. “Current.”

“Echo and I are on a break of sorts too.” His hands raked through the back of his curls, “We met in the Marines. When we came back she was a bit worse for wear. Something happened when she was deployed, something that changed her.” She could see him grabbing at something around his neck, loosening the buttons maybe? “That’s common though, war changes people. I was in therapy for a while afterwards.

“She stayed overseas longer than I had. She was an army brat, was in ROTC programs almost her whole life. Breezed through bootcamp. When she came back, she wanted a life outside of the military - basically needed to change her whole existence. She attends an outpatient clinic about a half hour from here. She’s not big on me seeing her while she’s in the facility. I told her it was fine, I wanted to help but she was adamantly against it. Her program ends the beginning of August and we’re going from there.”

He turned to her, his smile bright in the dark of the night. “Guess we’re both shit at love.”

She shook her head, her blonde curls falling around her. Her small smile hidden behind the wall of hair. “Your turn.”

He stopped walking and placed a hand on her bicep. “Why’d you really stop painting? The other night, your face screamed it was something deeper.”

She could feel her throat closing up. Why she stopped painting. Why she gave it up? She shoved her shaking hands into the pockets of her black slacks. Her body felt as cold as it had that day. “I painted everything when I was younger. I painted the walls in the den once. Dad thought it was hysterical but mom wanted to kill me.”

She could hear the tires screeching loudly into the night. “I stayed late at school. A group of us working on a mural for the winter musical. I had been too deep into the creative zone that I missed the last bus and missed everyone telling me they were heading out. I almost finished the mural- well it was done but I wanted to make a few changes.”

Her fingers laced into her curls, pulling at the ends. “I called my dad to come get me. It was pitch black out and had started snowing. Dad was careful- so fucking careful but that didn’t matter.” She could see the car skidding off the road. She could see the red and blue ambulance lights flashing from her right.

“The road was a sheet of ice and we skidded off into a tree. I was in the hospital for a while, but dad he never came home. The Medical Examiner said he died on impact. Didn’t feel a thing.”

They had to cut her out of the seat. She remembered being lifted onto the stretcher, voice barely above a whisper asking, no pleading for them to save her dad. The first responder never said anything about her dad as they raced Clarke to the ambulance. Just that she’d be okay. She wasn’t going to cry. She wasn’t but she could feel the tears beginning to well. That was the night her life changed. If she had only taken the late bus!

“You have survivor’s guilt…” Bellamy muttered, his voice trailing off. “You lived and he didn’t.”

The tears began to flow and her eyes shot up to meet his, “No, I don’t.” She hated that term. Kane’s mother brought it up once during dinner. She didn’t agree, she was at fault. She was the reason her mother shut down instantly the moment Jake Griffin was brought up. “I���m to blame. He came to get me. It’s not survivor’s guilt. He was there because of me.” She was guilty of her father’s death. She was the reason he died.

Bellamy wrapped an arm around her shoulder and tugged her into him. She expected the apologizes, the hollow I’m sorrys everyone offered when they heard her father died. Especially when they heard she was there. Bellamy simply pulled her tighter, resting his chin atop her head. “I felt the same way when I came back and others from my squad didn’t. You’ve been carrying this for too long, you need time to mourn.”

For the first time since she watched her father’s casket be lowered into the ground she cried in front of someone. Her head found the junction between his neck and his shoulders and she cried. Her father had been an amazing, vibrant person. That morning he woke up early to make her pancakes before she had to leave for school - as he did every Wednesday - but she was too excited rambling about the mural and all ideas she had for it. She probably ate at most one pancake. She raced out the door, to make it to the bus, her peacoat haphazardly buttoned. He would be lifeless and trapped inside a pulverized metal shell within twelve hours.

Bellamy’s front pocket began to vibrate. He made no move to answer the call, instead continued to rub his thumb against the middle of her back. She slowly extricated herself from him but remained close. He gave her a sad smile before answering his phone, “Octavia fucking finally. You didn’t fill the tank.”

________________________________________________________________

Almost all of Clarke’s important memories had Wells Jaha in them. He was her first friend, her best friend, and at one point in her life her only friend. Good times, bad times, didn’t matter the two were always there for each other. Yet the past two years her relationship with her best friend had been strained. Wells started dating Glass Sorenson during their freshman year of college. The pair both attending Phoenix State approximately three hours away. While Clarke, funnily, tried to find herself again at Sanctum State an hour away where no one knew her. Apparently she failed at that, if Cillian’s emails were any indication. She and Glass bumped heads throughout their formative years. Clarke, aptly nicknamed the Curve Breaker, and Glass a firm believer and in constant need of the curve. The latter making several snide comments about Clarke’s affinitive for knowledge. Clarke would have been content to never say a word to Glass, and for the most part she didn’t - except when it came to their mutual best friend, Wells. They’d put on a face, act civil around one another but the moment Wells left the vicinity they were as good as strangers.

Didn’t help that Clarke believed Wells was Glass’ rebounded after being dumped by her high school sweetheart Luke. But she held her tongue. Something she found herself doing quite often recently.

“You okay?” Wells asked. Glass and her mother went on a weekend trip to an all-inclusive spa resort - or something like that, she didn’t actually know nor care - leaving Wells free from her blonde grasp for the first time in what felt like forever. He had stopped by the day after her mother found out about her catering job, asking if she wanted to hang out with him. Allowing her an escape from her mother’s cold stare and the pointed questions.

Honestly, she probably would have agreed to hanging out with Glass over her mother.

She walked up to one of the stalls at the flea market selling vintage floral dresses. Was she okay? The question always seemed simplistic. A simple question, a simple answer. But that wasn’t true. Was anyone good? Shrugging halfheartedly, Clarke perused one of the stalls racks. She had been better. She had been worse too. “Eh.” she settled on. Simple.

Wells experienced Clarke post-accident. Experienced her guilt, her sorrow, her anger. Experienced the rehabilitation. Experienced Clarke receding into herself. He sat beside her at the wake, helping her weather the condolences. He stood beside her at the funeral, holding her hand in support. He knew good was relative.

Holding up one of the dresses to her, Wells continued. “I’m sorry Cillian broke up-” she didn’t have the heart to correct him. Useless at this point. “-with you via email rather than face to face.” The idea of looking into his eyes on Skype didn’t alleviate her pain. Maybe she’d listen to Raven and give up on men officially.

She knew her friend wanted her to face him, to look him in the eyes. Recapturing the ability to be so open, so vulnerable with each other that they used to have. But she was different- they were different. Glancing in the opposite direction, she could make out a row of food trucks parked near the middle of the flea market. One of the trucks stood out to her, specifically the name: Astraeus. She placed the dress back onto the rack and she pointed out the truck to Wells.

“That’s not a name you’d expect for a food truck.” He tilted his head to the side in thought, “I know it but I can’t recall why.”

They walked towards the makeshift food court but as they got closer Clarke came to a dead stop. Bellamy leaned out the window of the truck, forearms propped up on the sill taking a customer’s order. His messy, black curls pulled back with a headband. Wells said something back she couldn’t hear anything, her heart pounding in her ears. What was he doing in a food truck. The door of the truck opened, Murphy coming out with a large platter with several meals atop it. He weaved his way through the picnic tables easily, flowing passed bodies and strollers, delivering the customers their meals. Bellamy finished taking the order and turned away.

Bellamy and Murphy had a food truck?

Wells looked back and forth between the truck and Clarke. “Do we know Mr. Astraeus?”

Clarke barely nodded. He catered and had a food truck. How hadn’t she known he had a food truck? Without a word, Wells resumed walking towards the truck and Clarke wished one of the other vehicles would shift into gear and flatten her. She couldn’t go over there, not after last night. She was beyond embarrassed for crying like that, let alone in front of anyone. Bellamy, to his credit, seemed unperturbed by her tears but then again he had Octavia as a sister and was more than likely accustomed to dramatic outbursts. Last night, she sat in the backseat of Raven’s car, her body as far away from Bellamy as she could that she practically sat inside the back door. Feigning being exhausted after the events of the day, Clarke asked to be dropped off at home instead of sleeping at the Blake’s as planned.

Murphy spotted her before Bellamy did. He had a basket of fries in hand, placing it on the table in front of a small child. “Want a third job, which is basically your second job?”

He walked them over to the truck and Bellamy’s head popped back out the window. “I thought I saw you walking over.”

“I’m actually a mirage.” She shot back.

“Obviously you’re a mirage, why else would you be in this sweltering desert?” She hated the fact she laughed at that. She also hated the look on Wells’ face. Murphy threw open the door, yelling at her to pick something already because god Clarke, children order faster than you. Bellamy gave a small smile, shaking his head. “He’s great at customer service, can’t you tell?”

She chose something at random and Bellamy’s head dropped down onto the windowsill. Murphy could be heard yelling excitedly from somewhere inside the truck. “That’s my creation! I am now leading!” he cheered.

She chatted casually with Bellamy, and in a way Murphy. Wells adding a thought here or there. Each time he spoke, he looked pointedly at Clarke. Would people be offended if she smacked that smug grin off his face? Probably not?

They sat at a table eating and holy shit Murphy could cook. Very little was said between Wells and Clarke even though it was glaringly obvious Wells had thoughts he wished to voice aloud. Both were too invested in their meals. Too invested that they hadn’t noticed Bellamy plopping down into the seat beside Clarke. “Lunch rush is slowing down.” he explained, “You two shopping to your heart’s content?”

Whatever Wells would have said was drowned out by Clarke asking, “What’s the name about?”

“Truth?” He asked in jest. Truth. “My mom loved to cook. Never made a living out of it, and half the time we couldn’t afford nice ingredients but she came up with a library full of recipes. Half the catering menu is hers. Taught O and I to cook. Taught Diyoza when she got married how to cook. Gotta please your husband, mom would say, even though she’d never been married but whatever. And when my aunt got divorced within the year, mom said it was because Diyoza was shit at cooking.”

Bellamy pointed towards Murphy, “When he began hanging around our house more than his own, mom taught him too. It gave him an escape from life, I guess kind of how catering does for you. The moment school, or detention, let out he’d be in our kitchen. Murphy thought he was the Top Chef at one point, hosting competitions over who could make the best scrambled eggs.”

Stealing one of the fries off of Clarke’s plate, Bellamy looked up towards the name on the truck. “After twenty years of service, Diyoza, retired from the Navy and my mom had gotten really sick. For the last few months she was bed-ridden. To help out, Diyoza learned how to cook just incase O or I weren’t available. And when she passed, Diyoza opened Dawn in her memory since Aurora, my mom’s name, was the Roman goddess of dawn. While there is no Roman version, Astraeus is the Greek god of dusk.” Dawn and dusk. Actual Nerd Bellamy Blake named his food truck in a nerdy means to honor his mother.

Murphy stuck his head out the window of the truck, recalling Bellamy to their small kitchen. Saying goodbye to them, Bellamy stood up from his seat but before he left he informed Clarke that that had counted as her turn. She almost didn’t pick up on what he meant but it caused her to still. He wanted to keep playing. Even after her breakdown the night before. He wanted to keep getting to know her.

When they were in the car driving back to the Griffin residence, Wells looked over at her the smug grin back. “So I’m assuming the break is permanent. Mr. Astraeus was cute.”

________________________________________________________________

In the following weeks, Clarke learned more about Bellamy Blake and he in turn learned more about her. She probably knew more about him than she did anyone else. She learned how he enlisted in the Marines at eighteen. He got involved with a bad group of kids back in high school and nearly got arrested for a B&E. Additionally, when Bellamy was seven a parent came in to his class and spoke about how they were in the Marines. He went home and told Diyoza while she may be a Seal, she wasn’t one of the few, or the proud. They had a running joke since then that Bellamy would say the Marines were better.

She learned he feared he’d fail his mother, that he’d fail O and Diyoza and his future cousin. That his worst moment was when he punched a mirror at three in the morning, about six month into being stateside again because he couldn’t look at himself. He began seeing a therapist less than a week later at the VA hospital because Diyoza forced him into her car.

That the grossest thing to ever happen to him was that after saving up for a month to take this girl, Roma, he had a crush on to an amusement park, she puked on him after one ride and demanded they go home. He never called her again. (Not because she threw up, that happens, but because she blamed it on him.)

That Bellamy Blake loved with his whole heart. That one she learned through her own observations.

“Okay, most embarrassing thing to ever happen to you.” Clarke said, leaning her head against his arm. Octavia decided that they all deserved a nice Friday night to themselves since the wedding they were supposed to cater was called off. They all hiked down to a small, hidden cove less than a mile from Old Factory Lane where Bellamy, O, Raven, and Murphy lived for a bonfire.

The others were playing about in the water, moonlight reflecting onto the black surface of the water. Clarke didn’t have a swimsuit and Bellamy, who did have on a pair of swim trunks, offered to accompany her on dry land. They sat in the glow of the fire, watching the others merriment.

He thought about it for a moment before saying, “When mom was pregnant with Octavia, I thought she was dying. She was always throwing up, was so unbelievably pale, and she’d come home and practically pass out on the living room floor.” His head came to rest on top of hers,  “For one week I saved my lunch money to be able to afford buying her this gigantic bag of apples - though now I realize it was just a normal bag but I was six so the proportions were off.”

“Why apples?”

“Because they keep the doctor away.” He said bluntly. “My teacher had called my mom that afternoon saying I hadn’t been eating and asked if there were any issues at home. Imagine her surprise when I came home lugging this bag of apples because I thought she was dying. I will never live it down, that is O’s favorite story. When mom was sick, Octavia would come home every now and then with a bag of apples just to remind me. Mom thought it was hysterical.”

Clarke knocked her head against his arm, jostling him over. “That’s not embarrassing. That’s cute! I wanted something juicy.”

“Apples are pretty juicy.”

“I hate you so much.” And again, she hated the fact she laughed.

Bellamy stared her down for a beat. Dropping down into the sand, he covered his face with his hands. “My mom come home early the day I lost my virginity.” Now this sounded promising.

Clarke rolled over and propped herself up with her elbows. “Had no clue she was there. She wasn’t supposed to be home until nine that night and O was staying at her friend’s house so my girlfriend at the time Lilly and I thought we’d have the house to ourselves for a while. Lilly was mortified when she went downstairs to get water, wearing only my shirt, and my mom was sitting at the dining room table with a coffee in hand. ‘Don’t mind me,’ she said, ‘this old lady’s been there before. Two kids and all.’”

Bellamy groaned, tilting his head back. “Then, then after I drove Lilly home, mom was sitting at the desk in my room. Lilly had bought a few silly candles from the 99 cent store. They were half melted and there were some flower petals on the floor cause I bought Lilly flowers during our walk home from school since she thought they were pretty. It definitely looked like any cliche movie scene where the leads lose their virginity. My mom leans back in my chair and says ‘Next time, play some music or something. It sounded like she was being murdered.’

“Lilly never came to our house again.”

She tried really hard not to laugh, she did but oh my god. She made sure the day she lost her virginity her mom and dad would be out of the house. They were out at some fundraiser about an hour away and opted to stay at a hotel that night instead of making the drive back. “It’s not funny, I was scarred!” Bellamy all but whined. “The next morning, my mom gave me things to read on how to make it enjoyable for both parties and dropped a box of condoms on my bed.”

“Your mom was a sex positive person. That’s rad. Mine probably still thinks I’m a virgin.”

“Well she had a kid before she graduated high school and then another one a few years later, when she should have been in college.” Aurora had Bellamy in high school? “Mom was cool with us having sex. Said sexual exploration was normal in adolescents and she shouldn’t discourage it.”

Bellamy rolled over onto his side. His dark curls fell in front of his eyes and she had the urge to reach out and brush them aside. “Okay so you got embarrassing. Mine is if you could say anything to your mother what would it be?”

She had been waiting for Bellamy to bring up the night at the country club, been bracing herself but she still hadn’t been ready for the question. That night was a mess and he got to witness Josephine’s behavior first hand. He got a front row seat to her secret life blowing up in her face. Why couldn’t she be honest with her mother? Had there always been this gorge between them? Never able to bridge the gap. Had dad been the bridge connecting them and when he died that bridge came falling down?

“I- I don’t know.” she stumbled over her words. “There’s so much to say at this point. So much that should have been said, on either end. But I guess the main thing I would want to say is that we both deserve to be happy. We shouldn’t function long enough to get us through the day. When dad died, in a way, so did mom and I. We both rescinded into ourselves, never reaching out to the other. Never making sure the other stayed afloat. We both withdrew to prevent ourselves from being hurt further and inadvertently, we ended up doing the one thing we aimed not to do. We hurt ourselves more. We didn’t allow ourselves to grieve.” Her words were rushed, slurring together. She had no idea if Bellamy could understand anything she was saying but she needed to say it. She needed to get it off her chest - even if these words were never to be heard by the rightful set of ears.

“Dad’s stuff was in boxes before he was even in the ground. All traces of him wiped and if not for the memories I had, dad may have not even existed. I want her to know it’s okay to miss dad. It’s okay to be upset. Because I want to hear that too. That it’s okay for me to miss him. That’s it’s okay to be upset. Just trying to bring up Jake Griffin in her presence has her masquerading as a block of ice.”

Three and a half years. It’s been three and a half years and neither of them got to grieve. “I brought up seeing the school psychologist once after the accident. Mom was furious at the idea so I never went. Maybe I should have. Maybe then I’d be more open with her about my issues.”

The two of them sat together in silence. Bellamy’s hand reaching out to rest on hers, silently reminding her he was there. That she was fine. Octavia called out to them, telling them to join them in the water. When Clarke reiterated she didn’t have a swimsuit Octavia simply told her to embrace her inner Lady Godiva. Skinny dipping was not something she would do. “Just wear your underwear, it’s basically the same thing.” Raven offered, dunking her hair back into the water.

Bellamy wordlessly gave Clarke an out but she stood, gripping the hem of her shirt. Those in the water already chanting for her to do it. Chucking her shirt to the side and slipping off her shorts, Clarke raced towards the water, diving under the surface when she was near waist deep. “Lady Godiva on strike.” Bellamy said, slowly making his way through the tide.

Lady Godiva on strike. She liked that.

With the moonlight cascading him in this ethereal glow, Clarke’s fingers ached for a paintbrush. To capture the way his dark curls rested against his forehead. Or the way the moonlight illuminated his jawline. But she kept herself from his magnetism. Octavia climbed on top of Miller’s shoulders and Raven not as easily copied her and climbed onto Bellamy’s, forcing him into a game of chicken. Octavia gripped Raven’s hands but before Murphy got start the counting, she turned to face in the dark. “If you guys are done with your little game, want to take on the winner?”

Their bout began; Raven keeping her own against Octavia, the pair ebbing back and forth like the low waves. Miller and Bellamy both stood firm, casually talking about a video game they both desperately wanted to play. Taking Raven, and in turn almost everyone else, Octavia leaned over and kissed her. In Raven’s surprise, Octavia easily overpowered the other.

Miller and Murphy asked instantly when that happened as Raven, and Bellamy who took a fall to prevent Raven’s leg from ending up at an awkward angle, resurfaced. “After that dull date with those lackluster men, the one Clarke was supposed to come on but ditched for Bell.” she said proudly pounding her fists into the air in victory. “The date was uncomfortable but Raven and I kind of ignored them and had our own date. Then Clarke decided to be a spoilsport and go home instead of sleeping over. Raven and I kind of went from there.”

Bellamy ran a hand through his went hair, curls slicking back for a moment before bouncing forward. “Remember what my mom told me?” he asked, mainly focused on Clarke than the group, “Yea, I told the same thing to O.”

Octavia annihilated Clarke in the next round. It was no contest. Murphy spent a solid half hour complaining how he got stuck with her; at least Raven held her ground for a bit. Octavia on the other hand, wrapped her arm around Clarke’s shoulders from behind and Raven swam over to the pair leisurely.

“I would offer you what my brother’s relationship status is, but I’m positive with the game you two are playing, you already know.”

Raven’s hand rested on top of Octavia’s arm, “I still say just climb him like a tree and get over with it.”

“Raven!”

“What? I did that with the other Blake and it worked out for me. I would like to declare, I am amazing and made eskimo siblings out of actual siblings.”

Was Octavia telling Clarke to go for Bellamy? To make a move on her older brother? Wasn’t that something friends didn’t- well then again Raven and Bellamy had something at least physical at one point. But she had Cillian, well somewhat. Their relationship simply on pause. Plus, the Fourth of July was the next week and there was a possibility Cillian would be returning for a few days to see his grandmother. And in a month he’d be back for good and they’d hit the play button. She didn’t have time for complications.

All six of them hiked up the trail from the cove back to Old Factory Lane well past one in the morning. Miller piggybacking Raven and Murphy piggybacking Octavia as they sped towards the Blake household. Bellamy shook his head, carrying the cooler, hanging back to walk with her. Clarke carried her dry clothes in her hands, draped in an oversized sweatshirt of Octavia’s.

Leaning to her left, she bumped her shoulder into his. He, in turn, copied her actions. It felt juvenile, but she didn’t care. She leaned to bump into him but he stopped short, causing her to miss her intended target. “Ha!”

The streetlight from the road came into view, illuminating Old Factory Lane in a pale, yellow glow. The low light hitting Bellamy’s profile, highlighting the definition. For the second time that night, she wished to immortalize the moment in a painting. "Bellamy.” She stopped walking to look up at him. He stopped too, placing the cooler down on the ground. “If you could do anything, what would it be?”

He looked perplexed for a moment. Taking a small step forward and then a second, Bellamy shortened the gap between them. They were close enough for her to count every freckle on his face, to notice the small scar on his top lip. Close enough that she could just reach out and grab him. He thought over her question, eyes alight and expressive. She anticipated a plethora of possible answers, but she never considered the one he did say: “Pass.”

He was passing on the question? She voiced her question aloud and received a shrug in response. That was the question he passed on? “You know that means you have one more question to ask and then I win right?”

He picked up the cooler silently, continuing their way back to the Blake household. “I’m going to need some time to come up with a winning worthy question befitting the Truth Princess.”

She hated the fact his smile made her heart beat erratically.

________________________________________________________________

Today was the day. Was it bad she dreaded it? Cillian would be home for the day; he’d come to the library, they’d probably go for lunch, and they’d talk. He possibly would accompany her to her mother’s “barbeque” - more like soiree - later. Then he and his parents would head up the coast to see his grandmother. She’d get him for a few hours at most, wasn’t enough time to go over everything that has happened these past couple weeks.

She sat in her chair foot bouncing anxiously. She had reshelved reference books and rearranged the summer reading display to show which titles were still available. She cataloged the old magazines back in their archive section. And now she waited, watching the second had tick painstakingly slow. He’s be here in less than an hour.

To her right, Josephine and Jade’s conversation lulled. Or he came early. Averting her gaze from the clock, she braced herself to see her boyfriend/not boyfriend walking through the small hallway from the entrance. Instead, she saw a mess of familiar inky black curls.

“Hey Clarke, isn’t that your friend from you second job?” Josephine’s voice sounded higher, airier. “Friends with that cute one?” Murphy, Clarke thought, she meant Murphy. Jade’s eyes were fixed on Bellamy who immediately came over to Clarke.

He propped his elbows onto the half wall at the end of the desk. “Okay so I-”

“She’s a trainee, doesn’t know much. You could ask Jade or I instead.” Josephine continued the airy tone, leaning forward in her seat. “She and I would be glad to help.”

This went on a few times. Bellamy explaining he knew Clarke could help while Josephine and Jade insisted she was useless when it came to questions.

“Okay.” Bellamy said, walking over to their part of the desk, “I was on my way to get more mayonnaise when I get a call that Raven fell down the stairs and O is taking her to the hospital to have her leg checked out; would either of you be willing to work an event out at Eden Tree Park? It’s visitor’s weekend so Murphy’s upstate seeing his fiancee, leaving Miller, a heavily pregnant Diyoza, and I to man it.” To their credit, the two looked to be contemplating the pros and cons of working a catering job as opposed to the information desk at the library. “That’s what I thought.”

“What time is the event?” Clarke asked.

“One. I know it’s short notice and you’re not on schedule today cause of, you know.”

“Excuse me, but you’re still on shift until three today. You can’t leave.” Josephine snidely pointed out. She pushed her chair back, Jade copying her movement, effectively blocking Clarke from desk’s exit.

Clarke did what any normal person would do. She tossed her bag to Bellamy, firmly planted her hands on the desk and swung herself over. Throwing her gaping coworkers a taunting smirk, Clarke took her bag back.

“Ten out of ten on the dismount.”

“And to think, I never took a single gymnastics lesson.”

The fact she walked out on her - and Cillian’s job - didn’t hit her until an hour later as Miller and Bellamy set up the commercial grill.  Bellamy had told the story for a third time, voicing how he wished he quit a job with as much flair as she had. Oh god, she quit her job. She stood in front of the vegetarian and vegan alternatives to hot dogs and hamburgers silently freaking out. She quit her job. Cillian would be arriving at the library any minute now to speak with her. She quit her job. He’s probably called her already to ask but she hadn’t bothered to turn her phone back on, going from one job to the other. She quit her job.

Did she mention she quit her job?

Vera Kane hobbled over to Clarke’s options, asking for a roasted stuffed pepper. “You are a vision.” She was covered in sweat from standing outside in direct sunlight for an hour; cheeks turning red. “How have you been?”

Clarke first instinct was to lie and say she was 'fine’, as she normally did. But Vera Kane had been a therapist for a long time, she could read someone instantaneously. She probably knew exactly how Clarke was. Instead of answering Clarke shrugged. She was a mess, that’s as much as she knew. A big 'ol mess. The woman reached her frail hand out to rest atop Clarke’s, “If you ever need someone to talk to, my door is always open.”

“I’m not sure my health plan covers therapy sessions.” She said as a means to end the conversation but Vera gave her a soft, sad smile.

“Dear, how bout one on me. Sometimes talking it out helps and I’m here to listen.” Clarke’s eyes darted over to the grill, where Bellamy stood flipping a few burgers and plating others onto the tray. Sometimes talking it out was good. “You never know.” Vera finished, bidding her goodbye.

Aside from Vera’s odd offer at a free therapy session, the barbeque went smoother than any job Clarke had even taken with Dawn. Smoother than smooth. They actually brought more burgers and buns than necessary. The potato salad was a hit. And surprisingly, not once did Clarke see Marcus Kane, Vera’s son, and have to awkwardly explain to him why he found her outside the library. Because she quit her job. Then as they broke down the dessert buffet, Diyoza’s water broke. The woman hadn’t even noticed, just continued packing up leftover cookies and cakes. The host of the event did notice. She all but forced Diyoza into the catering van. Sent them all home, with a hefty tip - a baby gift Miller joked when they were piled into the van.

During the ride to the hospital, Diyoza easily chatted with her nephew and Miller. Every few minutes, she’d wince and place her hand to the bottom of her belly but aside from that you’d never guess the woman was in labor. Clarke on the other hand wanted to throw up. And when she stepped through the doors of the hospital, it took everything in her not to collapse on the spot. The last time she had walked through those doors she lost her father. Her heart pounded loudly in her chest. Her breaths came in short, shallow bursts. She had no idea how long she stood there, tears welling in her eyes but one second she’s focusing on nothing but white and the next her face is in Bellamy’s shirt as he hugged her.

“It’s okay Clarke, it’s okay.” He soothed, rubbing one of his large hands against her back. “Breathe with me. In and out. In and out.”

She couldn’t do this, she couldn’t be here. She needed to go but her feet wouldn’t move. Sensing her distress, Bellamy gently lifted her feet from the floor. The toes of her sneakers danced across the linoleum as he brought her outside to sit on one of the benches. “In and out. In and out.”

The tears began to stream down her cheeks. She turned into him and cried. Bellamy said nothing, just continued to rub her back soothingly.

When she found her breath once more, she slowly pulled away from him. That was twice now that she cried in front of him, twice. She hadn’t cried in front of her mother or Wells in years and she cried twice now in front of Bellamy Blake. Oh god, what did he think of her? “Putting your head between you knees is supposed to help, but that never worked for me.”

She tossed her head back with a groan. Why did he have to be there both times she was at her most vulnerable? Why?

“I have a question for you. It’s not relating to Truth so you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.” He said, eyes fixated on the crosswalk linking the hospital and the parking lot. “Why torture yourself with pre-med when you-” act like this? She finished for him. When she acted like this? “-could do anything else? If hospitals aren’t a good place for you mentally, why do you want to work in one?”

She opted out of answering. Bellamy did give her the out. Saying because my mom expects it of me sounded hollow. Saying she didn’t know why she tortured herself made her seem all the more messed up in the head. Who got up everyday to do something, to study something, that made them want to throw up? That had them shaking at the thought of the future?

She knew she should leave, should head home and get ready for her mom’s party. Prepare herself for the possibility of seeing Cillian but instead she rested her head against Bellamy’s arm.

“Hey Bell, Diyoza wants to call fuckface to let him know Hope’s forcing her way out. I vowed never to speak to him ever again so can you?” Octavia asked, walking out the sliding doors to the emergency ward. The Blakes swapped positions: Bellamy walking towards the doors and Octavia sitting beside her on the bench. “He’s a creep and I cannot believe he’s Hope’s dad.” Octavia rested her head atop of Clarke’s, “But he is also Hope’s dad and unlike our dads, he’s somewhat interested in being a parent. She’s almost ten inches along because we Blakes are impatient and Hope wants out!” O called out to her brother as he passed into the lobby.

It’s an odd, conflicting feeling to be present for a baby’s birth in the same hospital where she had been told her father passed. All sixteen inches and six pounds, three ounces of Hope -no middle name because she’s “a legend already and doesn’t need one”- Diyoza come into the world with a hearty set of lungs. She balled up her miniature fists the moment the nurse placed her onto Diyoza’s chest, snuggling into the warmth of her mother. The baby’s father was caught in traffic, according to Bellamy who got to cut the umbilical cord, and was the first of those present to hold Hope. To hold his cousin. The newborn was carefully handed from Bellamy to O to Miller and to Raven, whose leg was fine by the way. When it came time for Clarke to hold Hope if she wanted, Clarke’s eyes darted up to meet Bellamy’s, telling her she didn’t have to hold Hope if she didn’t want to. Inhaling deeply, Clarke allowed for the tiny newborn to be placed in her arms.

Such a small thing. Hope weighed next to nothing. Clarke gently brushed her fingertips through Hope’s hairline feeling the little tufts of brown fuzz. The newborn’s eyes were closed and her fists still clenched. “She looks ready for a fight.” Clarke’s voice wavered, her lips trembling. She hadn’t realized she started crying until Miller silently held out a napkin for her.

“Like mother, like daughter.” Diyoza chuckled.

They stayed a bit longer before Miller took the keys for the van from Bellamy to drive Clarke home. Begrudgingly, she turned her phone on once strapped into the passenger seat. The sun had long since set, cascading the sky into darkness. The blackness disrupted every now and then by bursts of color as fireworks danced across the sky. Her phone’s startup screen illuminating the car in blue light. Four missed calls from her mother. Two missed calls from Cillian. A few from Wells, Kane, the library, hell even one from Glass. Plus the array of text messages. Oops. Opening up her texting app, she glanced at one of the previews sent by her mother.

I will see you at ho…

Oh hell. Miller asked if she was alright. No, she should have said. She wasn’t alright, she should have said. Instead she nodded subtly, “Just tired.”

Walking into their home, Clarke noticed people milling about in the backyard drinks in hand watching one of the neighbors down the block’s fireworks display. Several partygoers came up to her, complimenting her on a splendid party - though none seemed to realize she had been absent from the party. Nor did they notice she resembled a penguin in lieu of wearing a cocktail dress. Her mother stood amidst a circle of her guests near the chocolate fondue fountain. A chocolate covered strawberry in hand. She looked away from Thelonious Jaha towards where Clarke stood.

Have you ever watched the disappointment spread on your parent’s face? Once alight with happpiness at whatever joke Jaha said, Abigail Griffin now looked capable of murder simply with her gaze. She placed the strawberry down onto a plate and pointed her perfectly manicured finger towards Clarke’s room. Her mother’s jaw tightened in annoyance when Clarke stayed put. With the fakest smile Clarke had ever seen, Abby excused herself from Jaha to walk over to her daughter. Even though her mother’s heels were two or three inches high, it felt as if she towered over Clarke in this moment. “Upstairs. We will talk about this later.”

“Mom, Diyoza went into-”

“Later.”

________________________________________________________________

She was legally an adult and legally able to buy her own alcohol. Yet here she was grounded. After everyone went home for the night, her mother brushed passed her curtly stating they would talk in the morning.

When morning came Clarke felt as if she were two feet tall. Her mother ripped into her. Detailing how this summer she barely recognized the person Clarke had become. How she had become lackadaisical with her commitments, instead choosing to spend her nights out into the wee hours with apparently a poor social group. Abigail declared that the root of Clarke’s evils this summer stemmed from Dawn Catering Company. That those employed by this company were bad influences on her daughter. That Cillian informed Abigail, after being informed by the always honest Josephine, that Clarke ditched her commitment to the library when one of her other coworkers appeared at the library and enticed her away from her job. Which wasn’t entirely true, she left out of her own volition but Abby wouldn’t let Clarke get a word in.

And when Abby went off about Clarke’s disregard for her commitment to appearing at her mother’s party and didn’t have the decency to call, that was the end. There is always a phone to use Clarke so do not attempt any explanations as to why you didn’t. You should have called instead of making me worry. While she knew her mother loved her and she felt awful for worrying her mother, something nagged at Clarke. Did her mother worry more for Clarke’s wellbeing or did Clarke foregoing the party and quitting a job she loathed interfere with the perfect image her mother sculpted for them? That Clarke threw a wrench into Abby’s storyline of a mother and daughter successfully bouncing back from such a tragedy?

Clarke wanted to say something, to say anything but ultimately nothing came out. Then her mother sentenced her ruling: Clarke would spend the rest of the summer working with Abby at the hospital and would steer clear of the deviants at Dawn Catering Company. Well her mother hadn’t used deviants but with the tone she used when saying employees, she may as well have.

Her sentence should be deemed cruel and unusual but Clarke didn’t fight. For a week, she sat silently in the passenger seat as her mother drove them to the hospital. Abby’s assistant had returned to college earlier that month to start their internship, leaving Clarke the coveted position. She mainly worked in her mother’s office doing clerk work: organizing files, answering calls, setting appointments. She never had to step foot in a ward but each time she walked through the employee doors she felt like she was suffocating. Thursday afternoon she sat at her desk toying with the notion of calling Vera Kane after a particularly bad panic attack. The only contact she had with her new friends were through covert texts or hushed calls late at night when her mother was either working or passed out.

On a Monday night, under the guise of going to a pilates class, Clarke found herself in the Blake’s driveway behind Bellamy’s motorcycle. Bellamy found her with her fingers clenched around the steering wheel and the engine still on. “You good there?”

“No.”

Nodding his head, Bellamy climbed into the passenger seat of the car, “Want to talk about it? I know you’ve been missing your daily dose of trying not to get dressing, sauce, or food onto a pristine white shirt.” He reached over, turning the keys and shutting off the engine.

She did. “Sorry I’ve been MIA, been busy at work.” she knew he wanted to ask about that, could see it clear on his face but she continued on. “Working at the hospital isn’t that bad anymore. I think I just needed to get over that hump. To walk through those doors at least once.” Why was she lying to him? “I’m good now but swamped.”

He sounded almost mechanically, “I know what you mean, I’m meeting Murphy at the truck in a little bit.” Forcing himself to say one thing but wanting to say something else.

As they sat there quietly, something felt off. It almost felt awkward. The incident at the hospital must have been a tipping point in their relationship. The night on the deserted highway was a fluke and he probably just assumed stress or something set her off but the night at the hospital, that’s when she made things uncomfortable between them. He glanced down at the time on his phone and she wanted to crawl into a ball. Yup, she ruined whatever it was between them.

“I’m going to get back with Cillian.” she declared. “We’ve been emailing a little bit here and there. Seems like we’re leading back towards what we were.” They sent each other short emails, nothing too in-depth relationship wise. Mainly it focused on Cillian’s grandmother’s health, which was rapidly worsening, and Clarke becoming acquainted with the hospital. Funny, now that she thinks about it, unlike with the library job, she never once mentioned how unhappy she was at the hospital.

“Is that what you want?” Bellamy asked, his voice trailing off.

Inadvertently, Bellamy asked his final Truth. Was getting back together with Cillian what she wanted? She turned quickly in her seat, the seatbelt rubbing against her skin. Looking at him, she almost said no. She didn’t want Cillian, not anymore. What she wanted was mere inches from her but she had ruined whatever was between them. “Yeah, I think- no, I know. Getting back with Cillian is what I want.” Her hands found the steering wheel once more. “Aren’t you going to be getting back together with Echo?”

Bellamy didn’t answer her, just stared at her puzzlingly. His eyes unreadable.

“Maybe you, Echo, Cillian, and I could hang out. I figured before school started back up again and I’m swamped with papers, I’d reach out to O for a double - she’d gladly drag along Raven.”

“Okay.” Bellamy sounded unsure of himself.

“I’m sorry, I should go.” She fumbled with the keys half hanging from the ignition.

He slowly climbed out of the car,. His hand rested on the passenger door’s frame. “Clarke, if you need someone to talk to, I’m here okay?” He stood on the front lawn as she pulled out of the driveway and down the road.

As she progressed back to her house, she tried to rationalize that she ultimately made the right decision. That whatever seemed to be happening this summer wasn’t real. It was all in her head. But for a moment she entertained the thought of ending it with Cillian. As her mother said, this summer she changed. But unlike Abby’s opinion, she changed for the better. She had friends for once, outside of Wells of course. She stood up or herself for the first time in a long time by quitting the library. She learned to be open with someone, she learned to be open with Bellamy and that conversation they had just now was the fakest conversation they have ever had. She knew more about him than she did about anyone else in her life. And he knew more about her than anyone else in her life did. She never once lied to Bellamy Blake until tonight.

Yet everything she told him tonight was a lie.

Turning on her blinker, Clarke made the first U-turn she could, flying back down the highway towards Old Factory Lane. Maybe he hadn’t left for the food truck yet. She slowed down the road but as she neared the house, there was a sedan parked behind the motorcycle. A tall, lean brunette climbed out of the passenger seat. Her hair cascading in perfectly styled waves. Then strode up the three porch steps and let herself in. Echo.

He was getting back together with Echo, just like she was getting back together with Cillian. Everything would be right in the universe once more.

________________________________________________________________

Her mother planned to host a fundraiser at their home to raise money for children with cystic fibrosis. The weeks leading up to the fundraiser, landscape architects covered almost every inch of their backyard turning it into a marvel of flowers and shrubberies. A topiary wonderland. Cleaning services swarmed, scrubbing the home  meticulously from bottom to top and then top to bottom.

Everything looked perfect but six days prior to the fundraiser, her mother’s usual catering company - the owner was unavailable back in June, which was why Abby had to hire Dawn - quit. Her mother in a frenzy, nearly knocked the door of her office into Clarke’s face. She asked for Diyoza’s number to take on the job. Clarke wanted to say no, that Diyoza hadn’t worked a job since the Fourth and six days wasn’t nearly enough time to prepare. She took in her mother’s appearance. Bags under her eyes, hair spilling out of her bun, and distinct frown lines. Instead, she offered the number. Diyoza agreed to the job, so long as Abby understood she wouldn’t be getting wagyu beef or fugu on fine china. There wouldn’t be anything fancy shmancy (actual quote by Diyoza).

The night before the party, the company utilized to rent tents, tables, and chairs arrived. As they arranged the backyard, one of the men mentioned how a storm was brewing and she may want the tables and chairs placed inside the house rather than outside. It was expected to hit around the time of the party. Her mother would hear none of it. Whenever the storm was brought up, she would immediately shut it down.

Maybe her mother should have adhered to the warnings.

The storm racked through the backyard, overturning tables and chairs. Even one of the tents lost three of the pegs holding the canopy in place, the fabric dancing maniacally in the wind. Several people had called frantically asking if the fundraiser was canceled to which her mother vehemently denied. Diyoza got everyone to work the moment she barreled through from the kitchen. Octavia, Murphy, and Miller were on rearranging the living room, the dining room and the den to allow for patrons to mill about easier. Stools, side tables, even the armoire in the dining room were quickly locked away in either her mother’s office or in the guest room. Small, circular tables were brought in from the backyard, Diyoza said it would give the room a bistro vibe - that they had planned to be indoors all along. Raven was on ambience, She dimmed the lights to a soft glow, she and Clarke hastily dried down the tables and laid out table clothes. They found a box of battery operated candles shoved into the back of the van. Raven decorated each table with a candle incase the storm knocked the power out. Clarke went to find air fresheners to hide in plain sight for when the room became stuffy and overcrowded. Her mother gazed out at the raging storm. Several guests parked their cars on the street but no one dared exit their vehicle. “It’ll be good.” Clarke said softly, placing a hand on her mother’s shoulder. “Diyoza’s the best. She runs a tight ship amidst the chaos.”

They intended on Miller being on the bar that night and the rest catering but plans changed and Diyoza broke her rule. Octavia would stand by the door, which Diyoza was quite adamant about standing in place, with champagne to greet each guest. Tipsy guests meant they would pay less attention to the crowdedness of the home. Once a substantial amount of guests had arrived, Octavia would be back on dry trays.

Diyoza would work double time on appetizers, getting as many baking sheets in and out of the oven as possibly. Well-fed guests would maybe notice the crowdedness of their waistline but wouldn’t notice the crowdedness of the room. Hopefully.

And little baby Hope was on sleeping in her carrier in the kitchen. She was already killing it at her job.

“Oh my god, fuck this-”

“Octavia!” Diyoza warned but the brunette ignored her aunt. She quickly relayed her tray to Murphy, nearly toppling the glasses in the process. Then stormed across the living room towards Clarke.

“Do you really not want to be with my brother? Because I’ve watched you two dance around each other all summer and it was both really fucking cute and really fucking pathetic. If you truly want to be with Cillian, okay sure whatever I’ll support you, but if you’re getting back with that dipshit-”

“Octavia!”

“-just because he’s safe and he’s what you know, that isn’t healthy. Hon, he dumped you for using the word love. Like I’m sorry, you voluntarily want to be with the same person who found you childish and petty and possibly a hindrance in his future endeavors? What was he firing you as a girlfriend?”

The room was silent. She turned to look at Murphy and Miller but they both averted their gaze, focusing instead on the drapes and the wood flooring respectfully. Raven nodded quietly in the corner. Diyoza broke the silence when both her hands came up to hit herself in the face before letting out a groan. Her mother was the first to speak. “You didn’t tell me he ended things after you said you loved him.”

It’s not like it would have mattered, Clarke wanted to say. It’s not like any of this mattered. She saw Echo at their house that night. Why would he lie to her about going to work when Echo was clearly coming over. “He got back with Echo.”

“Did he tell you this himself?” Octavia asked incredulously. The rain outside began to lessen, but the guests remained in their cars as if observing the scene playing out in the Griffin’s living room.

“No.”

Octavia left out a huff, tossing her head back. “Because you won’t talk to him. He broke up with her. Right?” The rest of the group agreed. “They both realized they wanted something else - someone else. Echo met this guy Ryker during her outpatient program. He’s a nice guy with Dissociative Identity Disorder. And Bellamy met you. They mutually decided they were better off apart.”

He was breaking up with Echo that night and Clarke happened upon him at possibly the worst moment. “Like I said, if you truly want to be with Cillian because you’re still in love with him, then do it. Don’t do it because it’s what you think you have to do. You’re allowed to be selfish.”

Raven knocked her shoulder gently into O’s, “I think you’ve made your peace. People are racing up the drive.” Instantly, Octavia put on a bright, toothy smile and grabbed her tray from Murphy. She held out her tray as each person entered almost as if she hadn’t grilled Clarke. Filited was more like it. She deserved to be happy. That’s what she told Bellamy the night at the cove, she and her mother deserved happiness for once.

She tugged on her mother’s wrist, thumb rubbing against an old, gold chain Abby wore. She led her mother towards their powder room and for the first time in three and a half years allowed herself to be honest. About everything: how the accident affected her; how she probably should have sought help and did call Vera the night before to set up her first appointment; how she hated pre-med and the hospital; and everything that happened over the summer. After she said everything she should have said before, Abby reached out and pulling her close. “I’m sorry you felt you couldn’t come to me about any of this. These past few years have been hard on us both.”

They had a nice good cry in the powder room. While Clarke fixed her now running mascara, Abby sat down on the lid of the toilet. “Your friend is blunt.” That’s Octavia for you. Doesn’t sugarcoat, tells you how it is. Apparently no disregard for an audience. “She cares about you.”

When Clarke finally pulled herself from the bathroom, she spotted the cropped brown hair of her ex. She could see Octavia glaring at him from her perch at the door. Guess she found out who Cillian was. Octavia’s eyes darted to meet Clarke’s. The brunette, lifting her knee minutely and then pointed subtly toward her crotch, mouthing ‘in the balls’. She was blunt alright.

Cillian found her within seconds, asking if they could go somewhere to talk. The rain had stopped but the clouds remained overhead, almost tauntingly. She led him through the kitchen where Diyoza pulled out more meatballs and Murphy eyed Cillian. Gaze scrutinizing every inch of him. Cillian looked tanner than the last time she saw him, clear skin radiating under the fluorescent lights. She led him out onto the back porch. The moment the backdoor shut, he began talking. He offhandedly mentioned how he missed her at the library back in July and it felt like a backhanded comment. He wasn’t sure where he wanted to go with their relationship. He hoped they could both explain what they expected from their relationship in the coming year. What they saw for themselves.

What did she see for herself? Did she see herself returning to him arms open wide?

Cillian continued on, babbling about designing a list of pros and cons and things they expect from the other but Clarke’s attention was focused elsewhere. From where she stood, she could make out a mess of dark curls through the kitchen window. Stepping further from the window, Bellamy’s face came into view. He laughed at something Diyoza said and her fingers once more yearned for a paintbrush. His gaze turned towards where she and Cillian stood. The smile slowly disappeared from his face. He gave her a curt nod of acknowledgement before turning on his heel and walking out towards the living room.

“Clarke are you listening?” Cillian asked, waving a hand in front of her face. “Are you feeling alright? I understand this uncomfortable and maybe even stressful-”

Clarke stopped listening, the window not allowing her a clear view of the living room. But from where she stood on the deck she did have a clear view of him walking towards his motorcycle. Without a word, she ran as fast as she could towards him. Her flats pounding against the walkway, her chest ached. She threw herself into his arms, almost overshooting him in the process but his arms slid around her waist. “I’m making an amendment.” she heaved, trying to catch her breath.

Cillian called out to her from the backyard but she ignored him. Bellamy looked over her shoulder woefully at Cillian but her attention was solely on the man before her. “I’m making an amendment.” She reiterated.

“An amendment?” Bellamy repeated questioningly.

“For someone to win, they need to answer the question the other passed on.”

For a beat, she thought he wasn’t going to say anything but Bellamy half hopeful and half nervous asked, “If you could do anything right now, what would you do?”

Without hesitation Clarke grabbed the back of Bellamy’s neck and tugged him down to her. If she could do anything, she’d kiss Bellamy Blake for all eternity. Lips parted as she pulled him even closer, their bodies flush against one another. She heard cheering coming from the house and Cillian’s voice drowned in the mix but she could care less.

“The idiots are watching.”

“Did I say to stop kissing me?”

“Bossy.” With a smile, he leaned back in to kiss her once more.

________________________________________________________________

Her pencil scraped across the page of the sketchbook, trying to capture every line of his form. Bellamy’s bare back was exposed from the blanket slug low on his hips, arms curled around the pillow he tucked his face into.

“Are you drawing me sleeping?” His voice gruff, “That’s not creepy.”

She pulled the sketchbook closer to herself, pencil hovering over the page. “I’m out of practice. Need to get better before school starts up again.” She dropped out of the pre-med program the day after her mother’s fundraiser, immediately declaring art as her major. Her favorite subjects to draw being her coworkers - specifically the Blakes. Aurora did have some gorgeous genes. “I looked at the syllabus and saw portraits are near the middle of the semester. I have an idea for a portrait that I can’t get out of my head.”

Bellamy’s head rolled to the side to face her, dark eyes appreciating his button up she wore. The sleeves rolled up passed her elbows and the buttons barely done. “It’ll be from my point of view, looking down to where a head is in between my thighs.”

Her rolled her under him, provoking a squeak from her. “Would you like me refresh your memory so it’s easier to recreate?” He lifted one of her legs onto his shoulder, kissing her way across her thigh.

“As much as I would love that.” She dropped her leg back onto the mattress, “We have furniture shopping to do with your sister.”

He groaned, hanging his head, “That’s not fair. She gets you for the whole year. I get you for three more days.”

Surprisingly, when Clarke told her mother she would be hanging out with friends from Sanctum State, she didn’t fully lie. Octavia did in fact attend the university, but due to their vastly different majors of pre-med and anthropology, the two never met. That and the student population was massive, it isn’t uncommon to not be acquainted with people in your major and year. Clarke roomed in a single dorm during her experiences in college and Octavia’s previous roommate graduated that May. The two girls opted to live off campus together for the next two years. Clarke would be in her second senior year due to switching majors and Octavia completing a joint BA/MA program.

At the present moment, between the two of them they had three pieces of furniture: a blow-up ottoman Octavia bought at some dollar store her freshman year; Clarke’s microwave oven which she illegally had in her dorm room; and a single dining room chair they found on the side of the road.

“Can you stop boning, we gotta go to Ikea!” Octavia yelled from somewhere in the house.

“I hate her so much.” Bellamy grumbled, rolling off of the mattress. Clarke stayed in bed a little while longer, watching him flit about the room grabbing clothes to change into. She pulled her exposed legs into her chest and rested her chin against her knees. Life this summer had been revitalizing. She saw Vera twice, and would see her once more with her mother this time before seeing the campus psychologist.

Her life continued on after the accident. She got to live and for once she felt like she could breathe. Her jean shorts were tossed onto the bed. “At least O cleaned out the back of her car. Otherwise you could probably just get a lamp in there.”

She likes to think Jake Griffin would have loved Bellamy Blake.

________________________________________________________________

This story took way longer than I anticipated and I feel it took forty years off of my life to be able to complete this. Just omg fuck that took so long.

[jiminimization]

Caraval

Pairing: Jimin x reader

Wordcount: 4.8k 

Warnings: slight mentions of abuse and violence

A/N: Hi, friends! New fic blog here. I’m super excited to share this mini series with all of you, and finally get this blog running! I’ve loosely based this story off of the Caraval series by Stephanie Garber. Happy reading~ 

Synopsis: Every year on the seventh day of the seventh month, game master Legend and his magical performers visit one town within the kingdom of Serene for five nights. The grand games of Caraval sweeps all of its players into a whimsical quest for the most elusive of prizes: one wish granted by Legend himself. Bound by the iron laws of your masters, you have never dared to venture out of your wretched tavern and past your humble hometown to join the games until now. Until the year that Caraval comes straight to you. Until notorious performer Park Jimin offers you a chance for freedom.

 Caraval’s magical hat shop sits in the midst of a bustling alleyway filled with various street vendors and musicians that blend themselves within their melodies. Out of all the bricked buildings lit with bright lanterns and dancing fireflies, the light seems to evade the hatter’s shop. Instead of the regular bursts of lilac, jingling bells, or a touch of silver, the exterior of the hat shop is simply decorated with seductive shades of red roses.  

A symbol of the Caraval game master, Legend himself.

As a somewhat experienced player nearing the end of this year’s games, you’ve come to terms with the constant presence of roses throughout your once dull hometown. At first, you were too afraid to even look at the petals, paranoid of being influenced by another one of Legend’s countless illusions. In the past three days that you’ve been a player of the game, you’ve experienced your fair share of false realities.

You’d dreamt of the wretched owners of the tavern you’ve slaved for. Their figures stalked the halls of Caraval’s boarding house, calling your name with a whip in their hands. You thought you saw your dead parents on the Carousel of Dreams. Your father was waving, a perfect smile on his face, while your mother was reaching out towards you. As soon as your fingers moved to grasp hers, she and your father had vanished right in front of your eyes.

After those deceiving visions, you’d think you would stay away from Min Yoongi’s hat shop. But time has proven to be your worst enemy. The last night of the games remains, and you have yet to find the last clue to win.

Though the sight of Legend’s roses sends prickles down your skin, you know better than to pass on a hint as vital as this.

Inside the hat shop, the dim lights barely illuminate the collection of merchandise that line the wooden floors. The room is deafeningly quiet. The kind of silence that would drive anyone mad if they stayed too long in it.  Getting to the front counter is reminiscent of navigating through an impossible maze, and once you finally manage to locate the owner, you are met with a pair of curious eyes and a secretive smile.

You’ve heard from the other players back at the boarding house that hatter extraordinaire, Yoongi, likes to deal with his customers in riddles.

You were instructed to tread around him carefully, as he will with you.

“Welcome, Miss Y/N,” Yoongi tips the brim of his top hat in greeting. His dark eyes narrow expectantly as if he’s been waiting for your visit all night. “Have you happened to have seen my jade ring lying around somewhere in my shop?”

The first challenge of the night. A small quest in exchange for a chance.

In your haste to overcome your nerves, you’d forgotten to pay close attention to your surroundings as you’d entered. There’s no doubt that the sly hatter would have planted his “lost ring” somewhere among his creations. Panic quickly blooms in your chest. Yoongi is not known for giving second chances. If you answer him incorrectly, you will lose your only chance at gaining tonight’s clue.

Fool.

You should have listened to Jimin when he had warned you before. The sudden thought of him strikes a chord in your chest, and as if sensing the emotions churning inside of you, Yoongi leans forward with mild intrigue.

“Well?” the hatter raises a brow. He casually slides his hands into the pockets of his long coat, the fabric as dark as night itself.

The action is subtle, barely a whisper of a hint, but your eyes lock onto his with a renewed ferocity.

Yoongi does not back down. A smirk tugs on his lips, his gaze flickering down your dress to where your handsewn pouch dangles snuggly over your left hip. Any other woman would have thought that Yoongi was simply being scandalous. A sinister look representing sinister thoughts.

But you know better.

You clumsily fumble for your pouch, reaching inside the open slit to the very bottom where your fingers wrap around a small and solid object.

Grinning for the first time tonight, you hand Yoongi his prized, jade ring.

“Impressive.”  he nods approvingly, slipping the ring on his index finger. As soon as it touches his skin, the colors on the stone shift into lively shades of emerald, olive, and delicate seafoam. Colors that oddly suit the enigmatic hatter. “Now that you’ve earned your favor, how can I be of service?”

Taking a breath, you steel yourself for your bold answer.

“I want to know how to win the game.”

“Ah,“ Yoongi doesn’t look the least bit surprised by your request. “Don’t we all?”

“I need to win,” you insist, pressing him further. You attempt your best to look earnest. “I must win the games. I’ve never wanted anything more than to escape this crummy town and my hell sent masters.”

“I do admire your iron will,” Yoongi hums thoughtfully. “I take it that you are absolutely sure?”

Frowning, you hesitate before the hatter. Of course this is what you’ve wanted. For years, the only dream you’ve ever known was to see the world past the horrid and dreadful tavern you called home. The empty days you spent staring out of the window of your tiny room in the attic, watching enviously as people freely roamed the streets. That once unattainable dream is now within your grasp. Yoongi should be able to feel how strongly you want this.

“I’m absolutely sure.” you say.

Inclining his head, Yoongi nods in confirmation. Carefully, he adjusts the ring on his finger, moving to start tapping on his marble counter. His fingernail sets a cadence, a strong rhythm that captures your full attention.

The hatter’s voice dips dangerously low.

“Everyone has their own desires,”

Tap, tap, tap.

“some are as strong as your will to emerge as the champion. Others are hidden deep within us.”

Tap, tap, tap.

“But what if I told you that there is a possible divergence? Another way? A path that strays from what you’ve thought to have known all along?”

Tap, tap, tap.

The tapping grows louder in your ear, though Yoongi does not appear to be putting more force onto his finger.

“Would you take that chance? Or would you leave it up to Fate itself?”

The tapping ceases.

In a blink of an eye, two items appear right before you on the counter. One is a bonnet. A pretty little thing made of luxurious chiffon and streams of lace, woven with blue colors that resembles hope and dreams achieved. Next to the bonnet is a top hat. Black, simple and bland in its design. The insignia stitched into the center of its body speaks of thorns and broken hearts. The symbol of Legend’s rose.

Yoongi’s personal top hat. You hadn’t noticed how and when it had disappeared from his head, but it’s here now, practically begging for you to claim.

Despite the temptation, you know the correct answer here is the bonnet. It practically radiates victory. Take it, and you win Legend’s wish. That much you can sense. But the seductive pull of the top hat--the mystery and feint promise of painful yet breathtaking love--is almost impossible to ignore.

Without warning, Jimin’s face flashes before your eyes.

“Have you made your choice?” Yoongi inquires. His smug smile suggests that he’s caught you in the act of your secret fantasy.

Swallowing heavily, you release a shaky breath. All your life, you’ve lived a life full of cowardice and hesitation. Too weak to rebel against the snares of your abusers. Always afraid of what comes after breaking those chains that have imprisoned you to a hellish life of chores and endless beatings. Up until joining the games, you’ve only dreamed of a better reality for yourself. You’ve merely thought about the idea of what it means to truly live.

You will not make the same mistake again.

~~~

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

The word races across your head as you hurry back to the boarding house with Yoongi’s top hat tucked secretly under your arm. The full implications of what you had just done did not completely set in until you stepped foot outside of the hat shop.

You should have taken the bonnet.

The original plan was to go against everything that Yoongi had said and resist his trickeries. You’d promised Jimin that much. But as you cross the threshold of the large mansion, creeping past the boisterous bar to take the stairs and to your suite, anxiety and regret settles at the pit of your stomach.

What exactly have you done?

“What in God’s tarnation have you done, Y/N?”

Jimin echoes your thoughts when you reach the door to your suite, finding Caraval’s most handsome performer leaning against the floral walls. As usual, his honey blonde hair is combed through with precision, the curls of his bangs stopping just above his eyes. The tie of his velvet jacket is crooked and messily undone.

Worry creases his brows, an expression that you can never quite get used to. The first time you met Jimin, he was everything but kind and warm hearted. He cockily walked into the room as if he knew everyone’s little secrets. He was always smiling, though it never reached his cold eyes. Girls pretended to faint at his feet in hopes of catching his attention, but Jimin’s heart seemed to have been made of the toughest of diamonds. Apart from casually flirting with other players as a part of his act, Jimin did not cross any boundaries.

Until he’d saved you on the first night of Caraval.

That was the first of many times that he would continue to guide you through the game.

“Please don’t tell me that the top hat you’re holding is your clue.” Jimin whispers.

“Jimin,” you deadpan. “This top hat is my clue.”

“Y/N please,” Jimin groans, the exasperation heavy in his voice. “I’m not sure if I can take the jokes and light banter as of now.”

“I am certainly not in the mood for bantering tonight either.” you grit through your teeth. “I’m being serious.”

The deep rooted fear must have resurfaced onto your expression, because at once, Jimin is taking your shoulders in his hands.

“Tell me what happened.”

“I had a choice,” you try not to notice the warmth of his hold and his proximity as you speak, the way your back aches to curl forward into him even more. “Yoongi also presented me a bonnet. I know I shouldn’t have chosen the top hat. Its dark energy was practically spilling out, but something came over me. I don’t know what, maybe I was possessed or bewitched, but I-“

You stop, remembering how Jimin’s features had flashed before you just before you’d made your choice. His broken, but deep pair of eyes. His slightly crooked noise. His boyish smile. His hollow cheeks that only blush with color when he offers a genuine smile.

Devastatingly beautiful.

You’d wanted it all. You’d wanted him for yourself.

Flushing deeply, the realization shocks you to your core. Hidden desires. Was this what Yoongi had meant? Has the game changed the state of your heart? Enough to sway the kind of choices you make?

You shake your head in disbelief.

“But what?” Jimin’s grip on your shoulders tightens. He begins to speak faster, his urgency near palpable. “You are aware of what the rose means. How the rules of the game have the tendency to change. For all we know, that top hat might not be the clue at all. Just what on Earth made you pick Legend’s symbol of deception?”

“It was you.” the words come out choked, a rushed confession triggered by your adrenaline.

“Me?”

Jimin’s releases his hold on you, his hands dropping to his sides. Devastation mars his porcelain face. Though you’d just partially admitted your hidden feelings, Jimin believes that you see him nothing more than just another one of Caraval’s illusions.

Oh, how utterly wrong he is.

“You need to understand,” you plead, voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t think that you’re trying to fool me. Though once, at the beginning of the game, I might have thought otherwise.”

“Then tell me why you thought of me when you picked that hat,” Your insides knot in various directions at Jimin’s unwavering gaze. “I want to understand, Y/N.”

It all seems so painfully obvious.

You wish that he could help you in wording your thoughts. Jimin always seems to have the correct answers to all. He knew what to do when you’d seen the false images of your parents before they died. He knew how to cross River of Nightmares on your third night in the game. But this is something only you know the answer to.

Only you can tell him what your heart holds, yet how will one of Caraval’s performers, a professional actor at his best, react to one of his players having fallen in love with him?

Simply absurd. For him, it would be nothing new. Jimin has most likely turned down more maidens than you can ever imagine, maidens throughout the kingdom of Serene and far beyond. What difference would it make if he had another to add to that list?

It was foolish to fantasize about something more. You did not have the luxury of doing so in the first place.  

“It was nothing,” you blurt, instinctively turning to reach for the door leading into your suite. “I must’ve been tired and mistaken.”

Jimin grabs your wrist before your fingers can wrap around the doorknob.

“Don’t,” he whispers. “Don’t open that door if you only plan shut it on me.”

You swallow heavily as he looks down at you, a storm of pain clouding his eyes. Even if Jimin is the greatest actor of his time, wielding emotion to his advantage, the amount of vulnerability in his voice rings true.

“The top hat shows you your greatest fear,” he reveals, making your breath hitch in surprise. Finally, you understand why he seems so adamant to hear your explanation. “Why are you afraid of me?”

“I’m not afraid of you,” time stutters as you hesitate for the briefest of seconds. “I’m afraid of how I feel about you.”

Oh blasted stars and heaven and hell.

Your loud mouth seems to be your greatest enemy tonight.

You expected Jimin to laugh or mock you. Perhaps even offer that devilish smirk he often shows to particularly infatuated women.

Jimin does neither of these things.

Instead, he stares back at you, shock and wonder swirling in his eyes, before darkening to something so intimate it makes you shiver despite the layers of dress hidden beneath your coat. His hand slides down to your waist, possessive in action, yet extraordinary gentle when he pulls you flush against his chest. The top hand in your grip is crushed between your bodies, though you could now care less about what happens to it.

The rest of the world blurs in your vision. It sharpens only at the focus of Jimin’s face, the shadow of the nightlamp above receding as he draws even closer. From here, there’s nowhere left to hide.

“I would really love to hear a more elaborate explanation on these unsaid feelings,” Jimin muses. “And if you’re as afraid as you claim to be… allow me to disprove that fear.”

“Jimin!” you gasp as he pulls you even closer. “Let me go. Immediately!” you attempt a weak push against him. You’d meant to sound more authoritative, but your throat is suddenly suffering from a dry spell. Jimin’s arm only tightens around you in response.

“You’re not resisting hard enough.” Jimin grins, effectively countering your weak demand.

You say nothing, though the heavy flush that rises past your neck and to your cheeks betrays your silence.

“I assume you won’t believe anything I’ll say next either.” Jimin raises a brow.

“If I’m not mistaken, I’m speaking with the smoothest flirt in Caraval,” you harrumph. If you can’t win against him physically, then you will use your words. “It would be easy for someone like you to take sweet talk anybody to oblivion.”  

“Someone like me was to play a very specific role,” Jimin admits. “I was to guide you past the River of Nightmares, then present you your first clue. That was all. My role for you was supposed to end on the first day of the game. The rest of my nights were to be spent loitering around town entertaining other players. But since we’ve met-“ he stops himself, confliction tugging at his lips before continuing. “I find myself lingering here. With you.”

You draw in a shaky breath as his eyes flicker down to your lips, an irresistible heat building in the pit of your stomach.

“You broke your rules of the game just for me?”

You’re not quite too sure what to believe anymore. A hazy fog has engulfed your head, like being captivated in an endless dream. If this really is one, you never want to wake up again.

“Since you stepped foot in this mansion, my rules no longer enticed me.” Jimin’s lips are now mere centimeters away from your own.  

His pull is intoxicatingly hot. The heat that had started in your stomach and traveled to your face now meets halfway in the middle, building in your chest at a near scalding temperature. A feverish sweat threatens to break across your upper lip.

You can imagine yourself closing the distance between your bodies at any minute, except a bursting question in your head prevents you from doing so. Particularly the way Jimin had worded his last statement. Enticed. A peculiar way of wording it, as if he was mocking the consequences of the game.

He had been referring to the script that the performers of Caraval are bound by. Attempt to break them, and a wall of magic will simply prevent the actors from deviating too much from their roles. This sacred rule to is not to be taken lightly. And yet, Jimin spoke as if he hadn’t a care in the world. As if he knew a dangerous secret about the games.

Straightening in his arms, you narrowly avoid Jimin’s incoming lips.

“Jimin-“

A splintering crash, followed by a loud thump and several screams, rudely interrupts you.

At once, Jimin is pulling away, alarm overtaking his features. Gone are all signs of flirtation and reckless honesty.

“Did that just come from the bar?” he’s already making large strides towards the stairs at the end of the hall.

A familiar shout amongst whatever commotion brings you back to your complete senses.

“I’m coming with you.”

“Don’t!” Jimin whirls around, and you nearly crash into him. “Stay in your suite and get yourself some rest. You’ll need it for the final night of the game. I will go alone.”

“And you expect me to sleep in the middle of all this hubbub?” you hiss. “No. I recognize who that voice belongs to, and he could possibly be in deep trouble. You said so yourself. The rules of the game have the tendency to change. And if Legend is using my friend as a form of a clue…I  simply won’t allow it.”

Groaning, Jimin senses your determination and sighs.

“Fine. But whatever may happen, please, Y/N. Listen to me this once. Avoid the trouble and whatever may happen…do not let go of that hat.”

Though you nod in agreement, protectively tucking Yoongi’s top hat under the crook of your arm, a foreboding twist in your stomach threatens Jimin’s earnest request.

~~~

Downstairs, the chaos of the crowd eventually dims down to a hushed, collective murmur. You and Jimin arrive just in time to catch the aftermath of the loud noises. Several chairs and tables are overturned. Broken glass is scattered across the floor. Players and performers alike cling onto the walls, staring on with wide eyes. The entire room’s attention is turned towards the center of the room, where a young man has threateningly gripped the bartender by his collar.

You recognize both men instantly.

The bartender, of course, is Kim Seokjin. The first performer you came across in Caraval. Aside from his tasteless and somewhat outdated jokes, you find that you quite like the man. He is obviously well versed in liquor, adding hints of magical ingredients to his drinks such as rainbow-colored strawberries and garnishes of sweet and spicy lemon. His exotic and outlandish style suggests that he often enjoys deviating from what can be considered ‘the norm.’

On the other hand, the man twisting Seokjin’s collar is quite the opposite.

Widely known in your town for being the most temperamental, most of the villagers steer clear of Jeon Jungkook. It was not until recently—just two months before the first night of the games—that you began to consider Jungkook as a close companion.

Though he does indeed intimidate a majority of the town, Jungkook’s hot temper had saved your life one day when he’d visited the tavern. Under the impression that you had stolen a few coins from a customer who’d refused to pay for his meal, the tavern’s manager had beaten you down to your knees. Just as he was about to land the finishing blow, Jungkook had stepped in from the men’s room, boiling anger sending his fist straight to your master’s jaw.

After pulling you to your feet and escaping to another part of town, Jungkook did not expect your gratitude or an explanation. He told you his desperate situation instead, a never-ending search for the tragic loss of his older brother, Hoseok, who had went missing a year ago without a trace.

Jungkook had experienced the same kind of abusive treatment from his parents before he and his brother ran away from home. Witnessing you and your abusive manager had triggered a hurricane of memories within him. While Jungkook was successful in temporarily halting your manager’s weekly beatings, he was unable to save you completely. You were found by word of mouth, and soon, your master came for you to drag you back to where you belonged. Still, Jungkook had convinced you that there was at least one person in this world who was on your side.  He had been the one who told you about Caraval’s visit.

Though you haven’t known him for long, you know enough to assume that Jungkook is playing in the games to find his lost brother. And as the game comes close to its end, he has become restless, and in turn, so has his frustrations.

“Gentleman,” Jimin has made his way up to the front of the bar, peeling the two men apart. “It troubles me to remind you that this isn’t the time nor place for such violent conflicts.”

“Is it too late to mention that he started it?” Seokjin says, popping open a button on his shirt as he gasps for breath.

Jimin sends him a stormy look in warning. It’s too late, however. Jungkook has already been rekindled.

“Say that again,” Jungkook snarls, fist clenching as he glares at the bartender. “I dare you, old man.”

“Old man?” a furious, pinkish red climbs its way up Seokjin’s neck and to his ears. “Why this son of a monkey! You arrogant bastard! We’ll see how your oh-so-young cocky little face will fair with my iron fist!”

“Oh, boo hoo,” Jungkook feigns a whine. “The old man’s suddenly picking a fight like a newborn babe. Would a pacifier help your temper? Maybe a cotton diaper to catch your piss after I knock you back to your senses?”

“By the end of tonight, I will personally deliver your nasty little tongue to your mother’s doorstep.”

“While you’re at it, you can tell her to kiss my-“

“ENOUGH!” Jimin roars, his unexpected outburst making the onlookers jump and squeak in surprise. “One more word out of either of you and I’ll bring Legend himself to cut both of your tongues out and feed it to the starving dogs. I swear it.”

Though Seokjin and Jungkook continue to glare at each other, both men wisely decide to shut their mouths.

“And YOU,” Jimin stares pointedly at Seokjin. “I expected another stellar performance from you tonight. But to come down here to this mess? Maybe your training has failed you and calls for your immediate replacement.”

“Oh, cut the drama, Ice Prince,” Seokjin snorts. ”As if Legend would replace me, his most handsome and skilled bartender in all of kingdom Serene.” The crowd laughs, now relaxed and once again able to enjoy the bartender’s antiques. Some onlookers are already beginning to exit the room or resume their places at the remaining upright tables. Other performers move busily to clean the mess Jungkook had made.

Turning to the famous delinquent, Jimin casts a curious gaze at him.

“Why did you start the fight?”

“Because this bastard fooled me into thinking he’d give me tonight’s clue.” Jungkook jabs an accusatory finger towards Seokjin.

“In my defense,” Seokjin interjects. “You haven’t completed the entire quest. I had asked you for your greatest desire and you refused to give me the truth.”

“I did give you the truth! How many times must I say it? I only want to find my lost brother.”

“Well?” Jimin raises a brow at Seokjin.

The bartender shakes his head.

“Oddly enough, I sense that’s not what he truly wants.”

Growling, Jungkook’s anger once again threatens to break through the surface. “Listen, old man, I think I actually need to knock some sense into you. What else here could I possibly-- wait. Y/N?”

Jungkook’s eyes finally meets yours as he searches the bar for an answer. Raising your hand a bit awkwardly, you wave to him in greeting.

“Hey, Jungkook.”

“Aha!” Seokjin exclaims, closely watching your exchange. “So you want the girl, eh?”

Horror floods your face as Jungkook’s jaw drops in disbelief. Behind him, Jimin looks as if he too might land a punch on Seokjin’s (admittedly) handsome face.

“I don’t want the girl, you complete imbecile!” Jungkook groans. Sighing, he meets your eyes with some consideration. “Though I do want her to win this game just as much as me.”  

Touched by his unexpected kindness, you can’t stop the smile that blooms on your face.

“How romantic.” Seokjin giggles, and this time, Jimin actually does smack the back of the bartender’s head. Though it may just be your imagination, you think you might’ve seen an annoyed muscle tick in his jaw.

“Not helping, Jin.”

“A little romance in the game never hurts,” Seokjin laughs gleefully, loud and boisterous in one moment before turning serious in the next. “Though I think we’ve also found our solution.”

Pointing at the forgotten top hat in your hands, Seokjin brings the men’s attention to Legend’s iconic symbol.  “The Top Hat of Death can confirm what Jungkook is looking for.”

“I’m sorry,” you blink, bringing the hat closer to you protectively. “I must’ve heard you wrong. Did you just say the Top Hat of Death?”

Nervously, your eyes dart over to Jimin. He shakes his head back at you, confusion tugging at the creases on his forehead. You were under the impression that the hat revealed your greatest desire. Jimin believed the top hat revealed your greatest fear. Both of you must have been mistaken.  

“The name of it suggests exactly that,” Seokjin nods. “The dark magic within the top hat is what makes it the most powerful and dangerous part of the game.”

A sickening feeling worms its way into your stomach like the beginnings of a virus. You’d thought about Jimin’s face right before choosing the top hat. You can’t bear to look at him now. If Seokjin is telling the truth, you may be up against a more horrible predicament.

Beside you, Jungkook raises the unsaid question.

“And what does the hat do, exactly?”

“You have to understand that it’s all part of the game,” Seokjin warns. “Legend doesn’t really want anyone dead. However, the final clue comes with the final quest, and this year, that means slaying the villain in the game.”

“So the hat shows you who the villain is?”

“Well, yes. And no,” the bartender shakes his head. You rigidly stand there, somewhat disconnected from your body as your mind attempts to process whatever Seokjin was trying say. Though you don’t have to mull over it for much longer. “It shows you exactly who, in turn, is capable of killing you.” 

[thedeadflag]

theconqueeror replied to your post: I’m only partway into L.A. By Night’s second...

oh I’m glad to hear you’re enjoying it! I was actually curious about if it was worth watching cause it did seem interesting

It’s definitely geared towards people new to the whole World of Darkness universe, essentially playing off of popular elements from the ‘Vampire: The Masquerade: Bloodlines” game and using a “show, don’t tell” approach to the vampire societies by having a character be a fledgling vampire with no idea who sired her, no idea of anything.

So it’s a lot lighter in tone than a lot of World of Darkness games I’ve played, but I’m also still early in on it, and it is getting a little darker by the end of the second chapter (a particular bit with Jasper and Annabelle brought back memories of a similar one I had in a campaign years ago with a friend of mine that ended...very unfortunately for one of us, so I was definitely on the edge of my seat there wondering what would happen).

Where games like D&D usually accomplish character development by a rolling set of group combat and social quests that guide RP decisions, class progression, and character interactions as they roam across a world from place to place, world of darkness games tend to focus on clashing social forces, difficult moral dilemmas, and a constant threat of peril (both for player characters and the NPCs of the world around them), all generally within a static city with pre-existing hierarchies and background narratives.

It sounds sort of edgy and cliche, but that series of games is largely about exploring the darkness in us, whether it’s struggling to retain humanity in a life and world that denies and strips it away, to losing touch with it of your own volition for the sake of power, to rediscovering it after so long without it, to trying to walk a tightrope of humanity and monstrousness that will ensure your survival, etc. 

You're thrust into a world where you’re the monster, the thing that goes bump in the night, and even if you have all your reasons for what you do, and all your justifications, at the end of the day, you still need to feed. And going without for too long, or through too many strenuous events, can turn you feral and bring out the beast in you, so it’s...interesting when you have a roleplaying game where the characters can’t be murder hobos, where they have people they care about to some extent (or themselves, at the very least) that raise the stakes and force players to navigate that tightrope walk. You can’t do what you want and be reckless in a world that will declare a bloodhunt if you break the masquerade...you’ll get killed and will have to roll a new character.

So far I’m really digging Ishii’s Annabelle (the newbie vampire) and the RP involved there, contrasting with Ward’s Jasper (the second youngest, but still much older vampire who is forced to the shadows even of the night due to his type of vampire) and his patient and empathetic cynicism. Marie’s and Walters’ characters are weathered and jaded vets who have seemingly more or less bought into their condition and worked it in their favor as much as possible, but still struggle with links to their past lives or past versions of themselves when they were newly sired. 

It’s a really strong opening, IMO. The narrative and characters aren’t anything groundbreaking, but I think they’re doing a great job really showcasing typical character archetypes at a high level and doing a good job at bringing out the lore in the world and dynamics of the game through their actions and RP, making it much more immersive than I expected it’d be, and I think that’s pretty great. 

They also seem to have quality guests showing up, whether it’s Mark Meer of Mass Effect/Dragon Age/Baldurs Gate fame, or Critical Roll’s Taliesin Jaffe, they seem to have a bunch of quality folks jumping in here and there to help. Eight 3hr chapters also keep things pretty bingeable, at least in relation to CR.

[puthyflapps]

Money Honey

@marcingestesmemes sent me this prompt today: “You asked for a prompt, so here’s my idea. In most of the fanfics, clexa is always on a superior social status. Whether in terms of money or power. Some of them have Clarke, but not enough. For this prompt, they are on equal footing. Clarke is new money rich, dad is a successful engineer/entrepreneur, mom runs a hospital. Lexa is old money rich, I’m talking Rockefeller type. Finger in a lot of pies type of wealth. The rest is up to you.”

Hope you enjoy

Send me more prompts and headcanons

Boring. That’s how these events usually were. Every year was the same. All of D.C.’s wealthiest families gathered together in the same posh building to spend one night together bragging about just how wealthy they were. The whole night was full of nothing but entitled, ultra-wealthy people, bosting about how much money they made that year or which ivy league school they bought their child’s way into. Old money or new money, it didn’t matter as long as you had it. And Clarke Griffin had it.

The 22-year-old was the sole heiress to her parent’s fortune. Jacob Griffin had made his money in engineering. The MIT Alum had formed his own company with close friends shortly after graduating from the prestigious university. In no time, the business had exploded. Griffin Tech Co. was now one of the largest engineering companies in the world. From cars to gadgets, to buildings, they were the go-to party. In fact, Griffin Tech Co. had constructed this very hotel that hosted these annual galas; a tragically ironic fact.

But, it is to be said that Clarke’s father isn’t the only breadwinner in the family. Her mother, Abigail, graduated at the top of her class from Johns Hopkins and is now the Chief of Surgery at one of D.C.’s most renowned hospitals – Griffin Memorial. Abby practically lived at the hospital. She lived and breathed surgeries. Clarke had spent so much of her childhood in the halls of that hospital that for the longest time she thought her name was code blue. Clarke had always admired her mother’s commitment to the job. To feel so inspired to do the very best every single day, to save lives and give the unfortunate a second chance was extremely admirable. Her mom was a hero to many including Clarke.

But Clarke, unlike her parents, saw herself as nothing more than average. She didn’t attend an ivy league school like her parents did. She attended a liberal arts school and she got average grades and had average friends and an average social life. That was the way she liked living. Although she had been groomed from the time she was a baby up until she sent off her last college application to be a doctor, that wasn’t what she wanted. When she had told her parents she wanted to be an artist they were less than enthused. Both STEM majors had taken their time explaining why they thought Clarke should reconsider. A combination of you’ll never be able to use that degree and honey, don’t you know that artists don’t make any money these days, had been tossed her way on more than one occasion. But, it had been her dream from the time she was a little girl drawing, pictures for the patients on her mom’s floor, to be an artist.

Perhaps, that’s why her parents dragged her to this ungodly event. To show her what she’s missing out on – which was nothing more than watching Chad from Kappa Delta talk about how many beers he could chug before puking while Amber from her old high school raves about how she and Gregory are expecting yet another baby and what a gift from God that is. If it wasn’t obnoxious, privileged young adults from the suburbs of D.C. spewing their ill-informed political views then it was creepy old men harassing her all night in hopes of somehow luring her to their bed. How on earth did her parents find these types of events fun? Maybe she would have fun at these events if her parents bragged about her the way the Donohouges bragged about how their son, Collin, would soon be taking over the family business. Maybe she’d enjoy herself a tad bit more if her mother went on about all her accomplishments nonstop like Mrs. Schultz did about her daughter. Maybe she would have the tiniest bit of a good time if her parents would just say they’re proud of her.

God, she needed a drink.

The only thing that made it worth stuffing herself into an uncomfortable cocktail dress that irritated her porcelain skin and designer heels that made the arches of her feet ache was the booze at these types of affairs. Rich people had good booze and this celebration was no exception. The ever-flowing champagne flutes and open bar set in the corner of the large ballroom was her only saving grace this evening. Now, to navigate her way through the crowd without getting trapped into a conversation with the Cohens about how Duke would love to have her in their medical program or how Mr. Turner would love to introduce her to his eldest son. Bracing herself, Clarke adjusts the straps of her black dress and turns swiftly on her heels in the direction of the bar. She marches quickly and precisely through the crowd, dodging questions thrown at her from her parent’s nosy coworkers and blocking any wandering hands and ignoring all lust-filled glances from strangers that would love to say they slept with the Griffin’s only daughter.

Nearing her destination, she can see the bar and the myriad of glasses littering its top. She’s so close she can almost taste the alcohol on her lips and feel the familiar burn in her throat from the delicious liquid. She has almost found her way into one of the several stools sat around the bar when something – or rather, someone – catches her eye.

She’s tall with broad shoulders highlighted by the expensive white material of her dress shirt. The fitted material of her black pants hug her hips and give Clarke a lovely view of her toned backside. Her chestnut hair cascades down her back in intricate braids as she stands behind the bar, back turned to the blonde as her gaze flows over the vast amount of alcohol available for tonight’s event. Clarke slides into a stool as she watches one of the brunette’s strong forearms rise up to the top shelf. Long, sinewy fingers wrap around the neck of one of the many bottles. A soft aha slips past the brunette’s lips as she brings the bottle closer for inspection before turning around.

Cerulean blue eyes meet startled verdant.

If Clarke thought the woman was attractive from behind, she certainly wasn’t prepared for how gorgeous she was face to face. The brunette had strong cheekbones and a razor-sharp jawline. Perchance, Clarke’s favorite feature of the woman’s face so far was her pillowy lips that if you looked close enough, had a small singular freckle adorning the top lip. She was absolutely stunning and Clarke now needed that drink more than ever.

The taller of the two women cleared her throat; placing the bottle of what appeared to be cognac on the table before breaking the silence between them.

“I’m sorry I didn’t see you there. What can I get you?”

Lightly shaking her head to clear her mind of her less than proper thoughts about the bartender Clarke responds, “I uh, I guess I’ll have what you’re having.” The blonde notices the slight twinge of the brunette’s lip as she tries to hide her smirk. She watches patiently as the woman nervously prepares the drinks. The timid shaking in her hands as she filled the crystal glasses pulled at the blonde’s heartstrings.  

“So, what brings you here?” the woman behind the bar asks as she slides the freshly made beverage carefully across the bar top into the seated woman’s hand. At this moment Clarke truly wishes she would’ve taken more time getting ready this evening seeing as though there was still remnants of paint underneath her fingernails from today’s earlier activities.

“To the gala or to the bar?” Clarke asks around the rim of her glass before taking a long drawl of the drink.

“Hmmm, both?” the tan woman asks tipping her drink in the blonde’s direction before taking a swig of the dark brew.

“Well, as for the gala, my parents dragged me here. But, the bar, that was all my own doing. I don’t know if I can listen to another person brag about the size of their yacht one more time without being shit faced.”

“I take it, this isn’t your kind of crowd.”

“No, not at all” the blonde chuckles; her words laced with bitterness.

“Are you telling me that pissing competitions don’t excite you?” the brunette asks jokingly. Her smile growing wider when the woman in front of her rolls her eyes and lets out an exaggerated scoff. The taller woman moves to rest her arms on the bar top as the shorter woman takes another sip of her beverage and tries to ignore the fluttering in her chest. The bartender drags her jade eyes up and down the blonde’s body admiring the generous amount of skin shown by the lowcut dress. The brunette had encountered many types of women this evening but none as intriguing as the one sat before her with beautiful golden locks, ocean blue eyes, and paint-stained hands.

“Well, if you don’t mind me asking, what does excite you?” the double meaning of the question is not missed by Clarke who is trying her hardest not to blush at the forwardness of the golden skinned woman. When her mother and father told her about this event tonight it was the absolute last thing she wanted to deal with. She had no desire to attend an event where she was looked down upon and shopped around to all the single bachelors. But now, sitting here, drink in hand, gazing into the warm emerald eyes across from her, she’s starting to not regret making an appearance at this event.

Clarke downs the rest of her drink loving the way it burns her throat in that familiar way before leaning her torso against the bar and muttering, “mmm, why don’t you come out from behind this bar and find out.”

She watches the wheels turn in the nameless woman’s head; contemplating whether or not to take Clarke up on her offer. Undoubtedly trying to decide whether or not she wanted to involve herself in the mess that is the young heiress. But, Clarke is a little tipsy thanks to the free-flowing alcohol at the party and now she’s horny so waiting isn’t an option for the young woman.

“I mean if you’re not up to it I’m sure one of these former frat boys will do.”

The statement flips a switch in the brunette. Whatever reservations she had about hooking up with a stranger at this gala are thrown to the wind. She licks her plump lips in anticipation of what’s to come once she rounds the bar. Thoughts of what she is planning to do to the blonde flood her head causing heat to pool in her stomach. Would she take her in the bathroom or a nearby closet? Maybe they could score a room somewhere in the extravagant hotel. Who knows but, if she doesn’t figure it out soon she might just take her on this very bartop, in front of the ballroom full of guests with prying eyes. Just when she’s about given up on thinking anything out fully she hears the last thing she was expecting.

“Alexandria! What are you doing behind there?” asks the recognizable voice of her mother. The sudden addition of third voice startles the blonde. She turns in the direction of the voice and feels her heart drop to her stomach.

There in all her pristine glory stands Indra Woods. Indra Woods who is the CEO of Woods Inc., the largest company in North America and soon to be the largest company in the world. Indra Woods, whose family has made their money in the oil business and technology and everything else in between. The Woods family is worth billions. The Woods net-worth makes Clarke’s family look penniless – a task most might believe to be impossible.

“Mother, what a surprise seeing you here,” the young brunette, now known as Alexandria, states with a cheeky smile. Her mother didn’t seem to find the scenario as amusing as her daughter.  

“Why are you playing bartender and more importantly why are you bothering this nice young woman?” asks the older ebony skinned woman with a warm smile on her face as she subtly addresses the blonde.

“Oh, no. She wasn’t bothering me, Ms. Woods. We were just chatting about the gala.”

“Please, call me Indra. I was speaking with your parents earlier and they said that you’re an artist, is that correct?” the older woman inquires while Clarke attempts to pay no mind to the green gaze currently pointed in her direction.

“That’s correct ma'am”

“That’s wonderful. We’re thinking of expanding the digital division of the company and we’re looking into recruiting some graphic designers. I’d love to see some of your work and perhaps offer you a job at the company.”

“Oh wow, wow. Um, yes! Yes, I’d love that. Thank you so much.” To say Clarke was shocked would be an understatement. She couldn’t help the smile that stretched across her face as she thought about the business woman’s proposition.

“How should I contact you?” asks the excited artist. The Woods matriarch smiles coyly before replying, “I’m sure Lexa can help you with that.” Casting a warning but, all together motherly glance at her daughter as a reminder to behave, Indra politely leaves the two women to continue on with their night.

“When were you gonna tell me you’re an artist?” Lexa asks when the blonde turns back to her. Clarke can’t help the laugh that escapes her lips at the absurdity of the question.

“Excuse me, when were you going to tell me that you’re a Woods? No, actually, when were you going to tell me you don’t work here?” the blonde asks feeling the weight of embarrassment settle on her shoulders as she thinks about how she just assumed the Woods heiress was a part of the waitstaff.

The brunette shrugs her shoulders as she smirks at the flustered woman before her. “I thought we were having fun.”

“I think you have a skewed view of what ‘fun’ is,” the blonde jokes.

“You might be right but, if you’re still looking for some excitement tonight,” Lexa replies, reaching into her pocket and producing a room key to one of the many lavish rooms in the 5-star hotel, “we could have some real fun.”

Clarke stares at the matte black key card perched between two tan fingers contemplating the offer before plucking the small object out of Lexa’s hand and whispering into her ear to grab the bottle of cognac they had previously been indulging in. They were gonna have some fun tonight.      

[harrytomylou]

I won’t give up on us, even if the skies get rough.. - Harry/Louis

* I’m posting old fanfictions that I wrote onto this account simply because I want to keep them for myself *

No Trigger Warnings

When I look into your eyes, it’s like watching the night sky, or a beautiful sunrise, there’s so much they hold..

Harry always knew there was something that the older boy was keeping from him. From them. The band. Louis was never open about his secrets, thoughts or feelings. The boys all knew what they had to. Nothing more and nothing less and Harry hated it. Because some days Louis was distressed. Upset, confused and irritable and Harry could do nothing about it because he didn’t know why. He’d asked Louis. Many times. But it would always turn out the same.

‘Hey.’ Louis whispered as he sat down on the sofa next to Harry, knees pulled up to his chin.

‘You alright?’ Harry glanced at Louis, concern lacing his words. Louis sighed, blinking rapidly to stop the tears in his eyes from falling as he nodded. Harry raised one of his eyebrow slightly before opening up his arms and watching as the vulnerable boy hesitated slightly before losing his ‘joker’ act completely and breaking down against him. Harry sighed as he rubbed the older boys back, wishing he would tell Harry what was wrong. But he wouldn’t. He never did.

‘Shh, Lou’ He muttered over and over into his best friends ear rocking him slowly. After about 10 minutes Louis’ sobs slowly came to a stop.

‘Sorry.’ He muttered into Harry’s shoulder.

‘Don’t be, Lou.’ Harry replied softly. ‘What’s wrong?’ He tried.

‘I…’ Louis paused, biting his lip for comfort. ‘I’m just so confused.’

‘About what, Boo? Maybe I could help you?’

‘You can’t. No one can.’ Louis muttered back brokenly before burying his head back into the younger’s chest.

And just like them old stars, I see that you’ve come so far, to be right where you are. How old is your soul?..

About 6 long months of comforting later, Harry had finally gotten the information he was searching for. They were lying on the floor on the small balcony of their London flat, Louis’ head pressed into Harry’s now tear stained shirt.

‘I’m just so confused.’ He whispered against the material.

‘I know, Boo’ Harry muttered back, having heard this every time Louis had broken down to him.

‘I should have worked it out by now though.’

‘Who says?’

Louis stayed silent for a while at this. Nobody. Nobody said he should have but then, nobody knew what was on his mind. It was tearing him apart. He needed to tell someone and although that someone probably shouldn’t have been the openly (well, to the band and his family and friends and practically everyone he knew in person anyway) bi-sexual boy, Harry was his best friend.

‘I..’ Louis paused, tears forming in his eyes again. He knew it was nothing to be ashamed of. He knew his mum, sisters and everyone he knew would approve. But it was weird, different, and Louis didn’t like change. He didn’t like certainty. He liked being young and dependant and having everyone else make decisions for him. But this, this was only his. No one could make his mind up about this. No one could tell him that he was straight, bi or gay. That was up to him to work out. And Louis hated that.

‘You what, boo?’

‘I think I’m gay.’ Louis whispered fist tightening automatically to scrunch up the front of Harry’s shirt. He felt Harry’s trapped gasp. Shit… He had kind of hoped Harry had already knew. Weren’t gay people supposed to be able to tell or something anyway?

‘I always thought you were just camp.’ Harry smiled down at him, changing the mood in the small outside area and tilting Louis’ head upwards with his large hand so he had no choice but to look into his jade green eyes.  Louis smiled back gently, grateful for how his best friend was taking it.

‘Shut up.’ He muttered gently.

‘How long?’ Harry asked seriously.

‘Since I was about 15. Please, don’t lecture me on it.’

‘I wasn’t going to, mate. That was all I wanted to know.’ Harry replied truthfully. Because Harry had gone through the same thing as Louis but at a younger age. People needed time to get used to it and it was emotional.

Harry had been 16 when he came out to his family. It had been just after he auditioned for the X Factor and they had taken it well from the start. His mum had smiled gently and hugged him, his sister had squealed and told him she already knew anyway and his step father smiled and asked him ‘if he’d got any action yet?’ Harry had laughed and changed the subject, not wanting to talk about his previous two boyfriends in front of his mum. He and Robin would have that conversation later. He had come out to his friends and the rest of his family a week later. Excluding some of his ‘friends’, who decided they never wanted to talk to him again, they had all taken it just as well as his immediate family. Finally he had come out to the boys during the 5th week of the X Factor Live Shows. They had been in bed at about midnight and the lights had just been turned out.

‘Guys?’ Harry had whispered from his bunk

‘Hmm’ Liam, Harry thinks, had replied softly clearly half asleep.

‘I’m bisexual.’

The room stayed silent for about 2 long, agonising minutes before Harry had heard Niall’s voice.

‘Cool.’

‘Yeah’ Liam agreed, not knowing what to say. Harry had hummed distantly in response.

‘You know we don’t care right?’ Zayn questioned. Harry hummed again.

‘We don’t, Haz.’ Louis had whispered, slightly off. This had panicked Harry. He didn’t want things to change with the older boy. If anyone had to act differently towards him because of his sexuality he never wanted it to be Louis. Anyone but Louis.

‘It doesn’t make a difference.’ Liam had agreed.

‘Personally, I think it’s quite cool. I’ve never known anyone who was anything but straight.’ Niall had stated, grin evident in his voice. Harry had grinned at this, all worry about Louis leaving him in an instant.

‘You get that I don’t, like, fancy you all of a sudden too, yeah? You won’t all suddenly act really distant?’ Harry asked vulnerably.

‘Of course.’  Niall had replied instantly.

‘Harry, we mean it when we say it won’t make a difference. We’re not idiots. Just because you like guys doesn’t mean you like us.’ Zayn stated firmly.

‘Yeah. Okay. Thanks.’ Harry replied more certain this time, smiling slightly at his new friend’s approval.

About an hour later Louis had pulled himself out of bed and up the ladder into Harry’s bunk. Harry woke from his sleep as he felt the older boy crawl under the quilt with him.

‘Lou?’ He’d asked sleepily.

‘I’m proud of you.’ Came the reply.

Harry only now had understood why Louis was proud of him.

And when you’re needing your space, to do some navigating, I’ll be here patiently waiting, to see what you find..

About 2 months after that night on the balcony floor Louis had become more comfortable with both his sexuality and talking to Harry about it. They had grown closer, if that was even possible, within the last two months and Louis had finally accepted the fact that he like Harry. He refused to act on it though. He figured Harry could never like him back so he left it there, checking out more guys in public instead. To be honest, Louis was shocked the other guys hadn’t caught on. He was hardly covering it anymore as he had become used to agreeing or disagreeing with the younger boy whenever he stated that a boy at the signing or in the audience or wherever was ‘hot.’

‘Lou?’ Harry muttered gently from the doorway of their small backstage dressing room. Louis hummed to show acknowledgment.

‘Can I tell you something?’ He asked gently.

‘Of course, Haz.’ Louis replied as he looked across at the younger boy. Harry bit his lip as he moved slowly to take the seat next to Louis. Louis sent him a look to continue.

‘I..’ he started, eyes on the floor as he found he couldn’t say anything more.

‘Harry.’ Harry looked up hesitantly. ‘It’s okay. Surely it’s not that bad.’

‘Depends.’ Harry stated, looking away again. He dropped his tone immensely before he spat out his confession. ‘I like you.’ Louis bit his lip gently.

‘As in like?’ He asked rhetorically. Harry nodded anyway.

‘I..’ Louis paused. ‘I like you too Harry but I don’t know if it would work. We have the band to think about too, remember.’ Harry sighed.

‘Yeah. I know.’

‘Plus, no offense, but I’ve only just accepted the fact I’m into guys. I don’t really want a relationship. I want to experiment.’

‘Yeah, I get that.’ Harry laughed gently. Louis laughed in response, glad he could lighten up the tense atmosphere.

‘Wait for me, yeah?’ His voice was quiet as it cut through the newly formed silence.

‘Yeah.’ Harry agreed smiling up at the older boy.

And in the end, you’re still my friend, at least we did intend for us to work, we didn’t break, we didn’t burn, we had to learn how to bend without the world caving in..

Harry knew Louis would come back. He knew he’d stop feeling the need to ‘experiment’ and want love instead, so he did exactly what he’d promised. He waited. He waited through the however many one night stands Louis had. He waited through the millions of girls throwing themselves at him. He waited through the boys (apart from Louis) and management and even his family in the end telling him to get a girlfriend or boyfriend. He waited through the nights he would spend curled up on the sofa with Louis, hoping that tonight was the night. He waited through Louis coming out to the boys and his family. He waited through Louis coming out to management and the boy’s families. He waited through his own coming out to the public and fans. He waited through all the ‘Larry Stylinson’ rumours that had set off. He waited, through the pain, for 6 months before that moment he desperately wanted came.

‘Haz?’ Louis asked sitting down at their breakfast bar, across from Harry.

‘Yeah, Lou?’ Harry answered casually looking up from the book he was passing time reading. Louis looked past Harry’s head briefly, double checking that the boys and their families were still talking and not paying attention to the potential couple.

‘Did you wait?’ He whispered gently.

‘For you?’ Harry replied in the same hushed tone. ‘Of course.’

‘Good.’ Louis replied before leaning across and connecting their soft lips. They both felt fireworks and butterfly’s (in the least cheesy way) run through their bodies as their lips moved in sync. Harry grinned into the kiss as they heard Liam notice them and whistle across at them. Louis deepened the kiss quickly as he lifted his hand to flip the boys, who had joined Liam in whistling and laughing by now, off. Although, that just caused their parents and sisters to join in. Harry pulled away hesitantly as the need for breath increased in both of them.

‘Wow.’ He muttered, still grinning.

‘Yeah.’ Louis whispered back, speechless as their lips were still millimetres away from each other.

‘Be my boyfriend?’ He asked quiet enough for the other boys and their families not to hear, although they obviously knew exactly what was going on.

‘Of course.’ Louis replied, smile matching Harry’s.

I won’t give up on us, god knows I’m tough enough, we’ve got a lot to learn, god knows we’re worth it..

Both Louis and Harry always knew coming out as a couple to management was going to be hard, but they also both knew that as long as they had each other they were strong enough. They could do it together. So they did. 4 months into their relationship they set up a meeting with the high up members of their management team and told them the truth behind their closeness.

‘So why are you here?’ Ashleigh asked them as she shuffled some paperwork about on her desk.

‘We’re dating.’ Louis stated suddenly but firmly. Ashleigh froze.

‘No you’re not.’ She replied, looking up at them.

‘Yes, we are.’ Harry answered, the same firmness as Louis in his tone, as he took his boyfriends hand into his securely.

‘You can’t.’

‘We are, with or without your acceptance.’ Harry fought sternly.

‘Think about the band. You’re sales will go right down.’

‘Don’t care.’ Louis stated.

‘You’ll lose all your fans.’

‘Don’t care.’ Louis repeated.

‘You’ll get shitloads of hate.’

‘Don’t care.’ Harry replied this time.

‘You’ll have no money.’

‘Not true but we don’t care.’ Harry smirked. Ashleigh sighed heavily in defeat as both boys stood up and walked away from the desk, hand in hand.

‘Why are you fighting so hard about this?’ She asked just before they left the room. She watched the young couple look at each other briefly before Louis turned to face her and spoke. Louis had never been one to stand up to management so the fact the words were coming from his mouth not Harry’s shocked Ashleigh but proved that they both really meant this. Proved that they loved each other.

‘Because we’re worth it.’

I won’t give up on us, even if the skies get rough, I’m giving you all my love, I’m still looking up..

Coming out to the fans was 100 times easier. While some had stopped liking them and sent them hate instead and obviously the ‘haters’ had simply sent them both even more hate, the majority of fans had celebrated and cheered even louder than before. Pretty much everyone seemed to love them and while things still were tough sometimes, they were both overall incredibly happy.

‘Louis?’ Harry asked from his seat next to him catching not only Louis’ but all the members of One Direction’s attention.  They were currently sat in Zayn’s living room watching a (very boring in all of the boys opinion) film.

‘Yeah?’

‘Why’d you tell me?’

‘Tell you what?’ Louis frowned.

‘That you’re gay. I mean you could have told anyone first. Why me?’

‘Other than the fact you’re bi and I knew you would accept me and not get freaked out?’ Louis asked kind of turning his answer into its own question.

‘You knew that everyone else would accept you and not freak out too. They accepted me. So, yes.’ Harry replied simply, leaning his head on his boyfriends shoulder.

‘I guess I always kind of liked you.’ Louis admitted quietly but loud enough for the whole room to hear before pressing a small kiss to Harry’s hair. Harry grinned as the other 3 boys cooed and awed.

‘I always kind of liked you too, Lou.’ The green eyed boy replied, tilting his head backwards to connect the two’s lips. And just like that they both knew that they would never give up on one another. The world could put them through hell if it wanted, but they had all of each other’s love and that was all they needed to make it through.

They were Larry Stylinson. And this was their life.

[carlkrogen]

The Survivor

((Warning: Snake image below))

The sandstone pillars that once belonged to the great temple of Ak’mon’tal is something to behold. I should know, I have traveled the world and I have seen a number of sights, but this, this temple to some profane god is something no one has seen in thousands of years. The dunes had swallowed it whole and now, it has been rebirthed by the sands to let people like me come and witness the wonders.

I have sailed the world and seen so many beautiful sights. From Pandaria and the Jade Forest, to Silvermoon and the remains of the glorious city. There are places no living being has crossed that I have now crossed, and each time, like this, I am left with one thought. ‘How did these people think they would be remembered?’.

It’s a common enough thought for a man like myself. My first love is learning and the questions are part of learning. The people of Ak’mon’tal thought their way of life would go on forever, only one day, it stopped. Did it end quickly or slowly was a new question that crossed my mind. From the first moment between the pillars I notice that the carvings are well intact. Taking out a stone that I placed on the pillar and let it start to circle up to copy the text for future investigations. I have questions and there are answers somewhere around here.

“Mr. Krogen.” Called a young voice from the camels. It’s the young navigator I had hired to show me to the ruins. He is probably around fifteen years old, a young wastewalker who had found a profession in leading people like me to places like this.

“Doctor.” I reminded as I looked back to the boy. I know I am a bit of a mystery to him. Since I had arrived I didn’t remove my suit or mask, the climate is too hot to leave it and I don’t tell the boy my suit actually regulates my temperature and water retention. After all, he doesn’t need to know my secrets. “I’m a Doctor.”

“Right, like the other ‘doctors’ I thought they were actual doctors.” He muttered as he looked around at the pillars. “What’s you Doctor in?”

“I’m an actual doctor.” I corrected again but pressed further to the temple. The markings on the walls tell the story of these primitive people. They thought they heard voices of their ancestors and started to build large buildings to worship them. Only a discerning eye, like myself, would notice that there was something more at play. The voices started to demand things from the people, I could tell by a pictograph of a group of people leaving offerings in front of what looked to be a large crystal. That, could be a problem.

“Doctor Krogen?” The boy asked as he continued to walk with me. “What are you looking for?”

Ah, when I am the one asking the questions, it is fine, but the boy asking me questions is worrisome. Boys like him go back to town and sell what they have learned about their employers to those who would pay. I’m not going to fall victim to that. “Go and stay by the camel, it will be safer out there than in here.”

Appealing to his sense of safety paid off as the boy didn’t bother staying a moment longer. Once his hurried footsteps were gone I made my way deeper into the temple. The sand was still lingering here and it proved more of a climb, but I know there is something interesting here. Places like this rarely are just here to be pretty art pieces for people to gawk at. In old societies these were hubs and hubs have a reason to be hubs. This is far from the dried river beds and there wasn’t a known trade root here, but the paint that barely hands on some of the carvings hinted this place was well used and care for.

It’s not until I am nearly down to the end that i feel something. It’s small, but I know the sound of this.

‘You are not whole’

A whisper, and in the moment I know what I’m dealing with. Temples like this could be for any deities, but the rogue thought turned into the truth I needed. I was in a temple built for a void entity of some sort. It appealing to my internal senses I do my best to not listen to the continued pokes.

‘You are flawed still’

“Make yourself better’

Down I go into the temple I find that in the residence of the dune some of the floor has gone missing. Below I can see the brightly colored walls and it isn’t too far of a logical guess that this part of the temple had been closed off for longer and only with the sand displaced that now the hidden part gets to be seen. It takes me no time to reach for my belt and pull rods of light. They are a simple enchantment I buy that are invaluable when I dive deep into the caves.

When I toss them down even more of the rich colorwork appears on the walls and I can’t help but notice that there is more gold in the art. This must have been for the priests or even what equivalent to nobility in this society. With some rope I was able to climbs down to the new level. But a moment before I land my feet down I notices it. That slithering tangling mess of snakes. I might have to ask, how do these slithery creatures live down here? I suppose they use this as their den but their food is above ground. Still as I look down at the snakes I find myself in a predicament. I could start swinging, but then I risk getting out of control and intimidating the snakes. The other option is to slide down and just accept that I would be fighting the snakes.

In the end I looked and noticed a platform. No matter what I would do I have to jump back after I am done with my exploration. In the end I reach into my kit and pull out several bottles that I toss around the room. When the delicate glass breaks an eruption of green fire bursts and ends the snakes that are closest to the flames, the others run for their lives. Once I see the most of them are no longer lingering below me I lower myself down and truly appreciate the room I found myself in.

The pictures in here depict sacrifices to the large stone, but these were not the food and coin from above, but the stone’s true want, souls. The images of young men and women being dragged in front of it, something being pulled out of their chest and into the stone. It’s something from the old world that many people forgot. Our world was born from machine and blood, that is what the current victors forgot. You see, it’s not the victors who write history, it’s who is alive who keeps history ‘up to date’. These markings hinted that the people who served the old gods did so with reverence and love. Maybe I am a cynic, or I have seen too much to know better, but, this is utter propaganda that the Old Gods made. I can taste it, and it tastes like shit.

My steps are light as I move down the hallway, every step is a trap, every pillar could lead to my death if I wasn’t careful. As I moved deeper down the hall the more the pictures on the walls changed. The large stone would have people inside it, and there were images of armies being destroyed with only the crystal remaining above. I wanted to admire these images, but slowly the thoughts returned.

‘Do you think you’re worthy?’

I have to keep moving, this was the part of the shadows people know about, but don’t speak about.

‘Do you even belong here?’

That was a question that had haunted me since the early days. Returning to Lordaeron and finding everything destroyed. The undead rising and starting to attack the people they once called kin. We were a nation split in two, and many just died to join their risen family. I am not so lucky. I might now belong like many of the others, but I made myself belong.

‘You will be forgotten.’

And I’m stopped, still. The only sound in the room is the slight ticking coming from somewhere muffled on my person. History is written by the survivor. We see it time and time again. Stories are told through families, then made into legends, then myths, then suddenly they are shells of what they once were. All too soon, they are forgotten. Everything is forgotten when time is infinite.

‘You will be forgotten’

Whatever has inchanted this place, it’s found the root of my fear, tugging on the weed of my mind and trying to make me see just how deep it goes. An internal pain gnaws at my bones, making me want to twist and cry out, but I don’t. Everything I’m feeling isn’t actually happening to me, this vice that wants to whisper horrifying truths is not going to win. I know what I am, and I will not be forgotten. I will be the survivor who tells the stories of others. My enemies will be forgotten, my friends will be made into gods through my legacy.

Standing back up I push these strange thoughts aside and make my way deeper. The walls are now more gold than other colors. There aren’t scenes, just one repeated motif, and that is of the crystal itself.

At the very end I see it, a glowing purple light. The Whispers are louder now, but I don’t pay attention to them, I’m so close to finding the object I need.

The end of the hallway turned into a large domed chamber. The art on the walls were in perfect detail and there was images of vast tendrils twirling up from the ground to the ceiling. At the very center was the crystal, a large pulsating rock that carried energies more powerful than I had felt in years. From what I have gathered about this crystal, it carries the souls of all the sacrifice inside, powering it so it’s user can unleash it’s horrors upon others.

I don’t want the stone though, but I do need the energy that is inside for what I am looking for. From my pouches I was able to find the object I need powered. It looked like a simple dull grey stone at first, but when I put it down and started to speak in a tongue long not heard in this chamber. The smaller stone started to glow and a dark purple beam shot out from the crystal as the stream of hundreds if not thousands of souls were heard, then, silenced. The stone I had brought started to glow into a bright purple with the souls and shadow magic, something that would get me stopped by any do-gooder who thought that the things you can’t explain were evil.

Picking up the stone, the ticking sound coming from me picks up and I whisper quietly to it. “Show me the Ruins of Zu’Narab.” The stone pulsed then a light shot out in the direction of my true location. The place where I’m going to find one of many options to be the survivor of this world.

[nightglider124]

DickKory Week: Day 4

I actually wrote this up at work yesterday. It was so quiet so I was like hells yeah, ima write some dickkory.

This one is... bittersweet. It's not really angst but it's not that fluffy either. It's also kinda abstract on 'what could have been'. Idk.

Oh and it's like quite a bit longer than my other posts. Idk why.

What Could Have Been

Snow billowed around the limited amount of people that dared to roam the streets this evening. The air was frosty; that level of cold where you could feel it rippling through your fingertips and near enough reaching the bone.

December always tended to bring a little bit of snow but never this much. It seemed a blizzard had gripped the city of Bludhaven this year. 

The sidewalks were icy and the snow blanketed buildings, trees, cars; anything the soft white flakes could reach.

Snow was usually beautiful and held a tinge of magic to the season what with Christmas fast approaching and all. The sky was an inky black and the stars were glowing brighter than usual. It was picturesque.

If you weren’t out in it.

A young couple struggled against the elements, amongst others that were bracing themselves each time a bitter gust of wind made them quiver. 

Without realising it, sleet as well as snow had begun to fall; a very unpleasant mix. 

Her long scarlet hair whipped around her face as she defended herself from the weather that seemingly held a grudge against all who braved it. 

The man wandering the streets with her, threw an arm around her waist and pulled her closer.

“Oh! This weather is ridiculous!” Kory shouted, above the roar of the snow storm,

“Yeah, no kidding! Which way was the hotel again?” Her boyfriend asked, matching her volume so she could hear him,

Kory barked out a laugh, “I do not know, Roy. I am not making the mistake of getting the map out once again.”

The auburn haired man had to grin before playfully poking her in the ribs, “Alright, Princess. So, what should we do?”

She squinted her emerald eyes as she tried to navigate, “Perhaps we should continue this way,” She suggested, pointing a gloved finger straight ahead of them,

“I think I hate fashion week, you know.” Roy mumbled,

Kory rolled her eyes and smirked, “I did not count on this snow storm, thank you very much.”

The pair continued to trudge through the thick heaps of snow, grasping at each other’s hands to keep one another close.

Kory Anders, as people knew her nowadays, was especially selected for fashion week.

She was soaring in her modelling career; not something she had envisioned for herself when she first arrived on Earth but it was fun and she was extremely good at it. 

Modelling suited her; it took her all over the world and never had she experienced and learnt about Earth more than she had doing what she did now. Her life was a different one than it had been years ago but she comfortable; content. 

It just so happened that fashion week took place in Bludhaven this year.

And that in itself sent a jolt through Kory. She initially said no, that she didn’t want to participate this year but she knew, deep down, she would be angry at herself for being so silly.

This was his city and she hadn’t seen said man in a long time. Kory was nervous, walking around Bludhaven, never knowing if she might catch a glimpse of him.

She supposed it would be nice to see him again but at the same time, there was still a loss there; a dull mourning. Their relationship wasn’t perfect but she never thought it would break down to the point of not talking at all.

4 years had passed since they broke up and still, there had been no communication from either of them.

Kory shook her head, trying to block the thoughts and the memories and the what if’s.

Roy was loving and attentive. He knew her through and through and they worked together. She loved him.

But a tiny part of her knew, he could not be replaced.

And sometimes, she sadly realised that Roy knew it too. 

“Kory?!” Roy yelled, above the wind,

“Huh?”

“Wandered off there, Princess,”

“Apologies. Oh, perhaps we should just-” She knocked into someone and stumbled back a few paces, “Oh!”

The man who had been on the receiving end caught himself  and stepped up to her, shaking snow from his hair,

“Shit, I’m so sorry! The snow is… Kory?” 

Said woman froze. She literally seized up; her back stiffened and her fingers curled into fists almost afraid to look up at who she already knew was staring back at her.

“Dick…” She breathed, the wind suddenly stilling itself,

A mix of emotions washed over his face but most notably, the one that made her heart pound, was the look of happiness. His smile was slow in growing but it met his eyes and she found herself matching him.

His blue eyes swivelled to Roy and the smile became somewhat tight; a little strained.

She dropped her eyes and shuffled closer to her boyfriend, remembering herself.

“Hey, man! Long time no see!” Roy greeted, apparently oblivious to any awkwardness,

Dick gave him a half hug and a pat on the back, “Hey, Roy. I know! Been a while!” 

He turned to Kory and held out his arms for her. She moved without realising she was doing so, tiptoed forward and found herself caught up in his warmth. There was something more meaningful in his actions than with Roy, like he was truly happy to see her after such a long time. She didn’t know how to feel about that one.

Kory was light headed as his scent filled her nose; that musky yet sharp fragrance that was him. She smiled briefly into his shoulder; she could also smell the gel in his hair. The same one he’d used for years. Some things never changed.

She was reluctant to release him but she did, knowing holding onto one another for much longer would cause some uncomfortable questioning from Roy.

“So, what are you guys doing here in Bludhaven? Is it for the sunshine?” He joked, thrusting his hands back in his pockets, the bag on his wrist ruffling a little.

Kory gave him a soft smile and Roy laughed, “No, no… little miss model here is doing fashion week.”

Dick’s eyes landed on her again and his smile was warm, “I’ve been seeing your billboards and magazine spreads everywhere. You’re really making your mark there, Kor.”

She blushed and pushed some hair behind her ear, “It would appear so.”

“You’re amazing. Really.” He complimented,

Kory bobbed her head in thanks as Roy wound an arm around her waist, a gesture that didn’t go unnoticed by Dick.

“Right now though, we’re trying to find our hotel in this blizzard.” Roy complained as a gust of wind kicked up some snow in their direction.

“Where abouts is it?”

Kory tapped her chin in thought, “Bleaker street? The Jade Vale?”

Dick cringed, “Um…”

Roy deadpanned, “We’re nowhere near it, are we?”

“It’s on the other side of the city.”

Roy groaned and Kory sighed. They glanced at each other, “What shall we do?”

“I don’t know… There aren’t any taxi’s around either.”

“Perhaps we should simply start walking.”

“You shouldn’t be overdoing it, ya know.”

She glared at him and Dick raised an eyebrow but didn’t push. He did, however, raise his hand,

“Guys, why don’t you come up to my apartment for a little while? I just picked up Chinese,” He told them, swaying the plastic bag back and forth,

“Oh, no… we could not possibly-”

“C’mon, there’s more than enough. It’s really no big deal, Kor.”

She bit her lip whilst Roy nudged her, “You should eat.”

The cuisine did smell delicious from the brief waft that just lingered. And the idea of hot food in this arctic weather sounded heavenly.

“Well, Kory?” Dick prompted, smiling,

She tilted her head and smiled back, “Okay… thank you.”

He nodded and led them down the street they had just come from. Roy kept his arm around Kory and she couldn’t be sure if it was for his benefit or hers.

When they had made their way up the stairs of the apartment block, Dick swung his keys around his index finger before opening up the front door.

Dick sheepishly turned to them, “Uh… mind the boxes.”

The couple blinked as a few stacks of boxes sat in the hallway.

“You are moving?” Kory wondered,

“Not exactly.” Dick replied, before shouting to an unseen individual, “I’m back! And we have guests!”

“Thank god. I’m starving!” A woman’s voice called back,

Kory felt a little uneasy. She knew that voice and wasn’t sure how she would feel about her being in their apartment.

Barbra wandered out from the kitchen and the surprise was clear on her face, “Roy! Kory! Hey!” She greeted,

“Hey Babs!” Roy returned, leaning forward to politely kiss her cheek.

Kory swallowed the sudden lump in her throat, “Greetings, Barbra,” She smiled and accepted the half hug,

“Great to see you guys… Er… sorry for the mess.” She murmured, rubbing the back of her neck,

“Babs is still in the process of moving in with me. Apparently, it takes forever for her to unpack her crap.” Dick cheeked and she whacked him with a kitchen towel.

“I’ve been busy, you jerk.”

Roy laughed but Kory suddenly felt uncomfortable and out of place. It didn’t bother her that they had moved in together; in fact, she was happy that Dick was happy.

But, there was a small part of her that felt… amiss. She hadn’t known about anything in the past few years that had gone on in his life. It upset her to know that her once closest friend was practically a stranger now.

“I was the same when Kory and I moved in together, wasn’t I?” Roy recalled,

Kory blinked, momentarily confused, “Oh, yes. It was awful. I kept falling over his belongings for weeks!”

They all laughed then and Babs took the Chinese food from her boyfriend and started dishing it out onto plates for everyone.

Whilst they ate, they caught up on each other’s lives; learned what jobs they’d been doing; learned about the progress Nightwing was having with his corrupt city. It was pleasant.

And yet, Kory couldn’t shake the dull ache in her chest.

She was always going to love Dick; and she hoped there was still a part of him that was always going to love her as well. It was hard to be social like this with other partners but then she realised not being as close friends anymore may in fact be a better option.

“So, what’s new with you guys then?” Babs asked around a mouthful of chow mein,

Roy glanced at Kory with a sly smile and she rolled her eyes, knowing he was dying to tell them their news.

“Well, Kory and I are engaged.”

Kory tried not to pay much attention to the way Dick’s smile faded.

“Engaged… Wow, that’s… Congratulations.” Dick forced out and Kory felt sadness return, disliking how much that seemed to wound him,

“Oh! Can I see the ring?” Babs asked, putting her hands together in a pleading gesture,

Kory smiled and nodded, removing her gloves and letting her see the diamond ring.

“Holy shit… that looks expensive.” Babs commented whilst Dick stayed quiet,

Roy laughed and then looked at his fiancé with a look of adoration, “It was worth it.”

Kory blushed at his words and put her hands in her lap, feeling guilty about their news,

Dick cleared his throat, “So, got a date in mind?”

“Date’s set.” Roy answered,

“Oh?”

“March 10th”

Both Dick and Barbra’s eyes widened at that.

“That’s soon, isn’t it?”

Roy shrugged, “We decided there was no point in waiting. Sides…” He paused and Kory felt her stomach drop, knowing what he was about to tell them, “Kory here won’t be able to squeeze into her dress if we wait any longer, will you?”

Babs was the one to spell it out, “You’re..?”

“Pregnant.” Dick stated, the smile vanishing from his face and being replaced with a look of loss,

Kory scowled at Roy, “I thought we agreed on not telling anyone just yet?”

He shrugged and kissed her temple, “I’m sure Dick and Barbra aren’t gonna go tell everyone.”

Babs laughed, “Of course not! Oh, but congratulations, you two. Do you know what you’re having yet?”

“Nope, we’re keeping it a surprise.”

“That’ll make baby shopping fun for you.”

Roy laughed but Kory tuned out the rest of the conversation. Her eyes kept flicking to Dick who was remaining silent. She felt guilty; so very guilty. She almost felt like she was betraying him by marrying and having a baby with Roy.

Even though they had ended things on good terms, it still stung. Dick sat there, unsure of how to respond. He didn’t want to give a fake reaction.

Dick felt dejected. He knew he shouldn’t; he knew he should be bubbling with excitement for his friends but… there was the tiny part of his brain that reminded him Kory was and would always be more than a friend to him.

He loved her. It was an unspoken but very well known fact. He loved the Tamaranian Princess and there would always be a place in his heart for her.

“Please… I need some air.” Kory murmured to Roy,

Dick blinked and noticed Kory looked pale,

“We have a balcony, Kor. Right at the end of the hall there.”

She nodded, “Thank you,”

“Do you want me to come with?” Dick asked, even though Roy was just about to say the same thing,

Kory waved her hand dismissively, “I shall be fine.”

She made her way to the balcony, being mindful of the ice and working hard not to slip.

Hugging herself, she looked out over the city feeling melancholy. She really wished he hadn’t found out like that. It just felt, to her anyway, like a dagger being twisted.

She knew that wasn’t Roy’s intent. He hadn’t been trying to be malicious; he was simply excited and she had been too until she watched Dick’s expression fall through both pieces of information.

Kory sighed and heard the door open behind her.

“Hey…”

She turned her head to see Dick, giving her the tiniest smile,

“Greetings.”

“You feeling okay?”

“Mhm… Just a bit lightheaded.”

He nodded, “So… excited?”

“For what?”

Dick tilted his head, “For becoming a wife and a… mother.”

He was trying to be playful, she could tell but something about the way he struggled on both words; she didn’t bite.

“Dick, I…”

“I’m happy for you.”

“Truly?”

He shrugged.

They dipped into silence although not as awkward as one would think. Kory couldn’t stop her mind racing; so many questions but none of them seemed right.

“Sorry for kinda… losing contact over the years.”

She smiled, “I apologise also.”

The silence returned until Kory was the one to break it,

“If it aids you… I feel a… sadness as well.”

Dick was about to protest, lie and tell her he wasn’t but she knew him better than that.

“I… We’ve always been on, off, on and off again… I guess I just thought… One day, we’d be on again.”

She nodded; couldn’t have explained it better herself. She wasn’t upset that they weren’t together anymore, she was upset that they had so many what if’s.

“You’ve been engaged before.”

Kory felt a prickle on the back of her neck, “I have… I plan to go through with it, this time.”

“You were going to go through with it the first time, weren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“And we… Probably would have had kids, too.”

She turned to face him, tears welling in her eyes. Kory stroked his cheek before stepping away,

“I suppose… we shall never know.” Kory gave him a sad smile, one that was full of regret and wistfulness; wondering and wishing they could have found out what a future between them would have held.

“Kory?” Roy called from the hall,

“Coming.” She responded,

Kory nodded to Dick and brushed her hand against his as she walked past him.

No words were spoken but the two of them desperately wished that door of what could have been hadn’t just firmly closed.

[askhomestuckuniverses]

We Have.... Lifdoff (part 1)

I told y’all I was gonna write shit for trollstuck

Characters: John Egbert, Rose Lalonde, Dave Strider, Jade Harley, Jake English, Dirk Strider

Ships: Mentions of John<>Rose and Dirk<3Jake, more to come

Warnings: Helmsman-themed body-horror, canon-typical language and violence, mentions of slavery and casteism

“ ...it was good to have friends in high places. Violet, fishy places, to be precise. Rosali Lalond (good princess, best moirail) might have peered into her magic crystal ball and just happened to foresee that giving her friends a kickass assignment would bring good fortune to the Empire. It would be unwise to ignore Oracle Farsight’s advice, which was how Johnne had found himself in possession of the Scout Ship Typheus; a research and exploration vessel designed to navigate the uncharted edges of the Empire. “

This sweep’s graduates of the Alternian Empire’s highblood academies had just received their assignments.  Most bright-eyed young bluebloods could expect to spend the next ten to fifty sweeps as a grunt on some seadweller’s warship, or at best a soldier in the invasion fleet. Almost none would be getting a position as Captain over a shiny new ship, ready to explore the vast reaches of the universe.  It helped that Johnne Egbert had performed pretty well at the academy; more importantly, Jadite Harley, who would be serving as Chief Scientific Officer, was both Johnne’s good friend and something of an incredible fucking genius.  And sure, it was good to have friends in high places.  Violet, fishy places, to be precise.  Rosali Lalond (good princess, best moirail) might just have peered into her magic crystal ball and just happened to foresee that giving her friends a kickass assignment would bring good fortune to the Empire.  It would be unwise to ignore Oracle Farsight’s advice, which was how Johnne had found himself in possession of the Scout Ship Typheus; a research and exploration vessel designed to navigate the uncharted edges of the Empire.

“It’s not that great a ship,” Jadite remarked after seeing it for the first time.

“Yes it is, shut up,” was Johnne’s mature and professional response.

“I mean, I’m pretty sure these missions are designed to send problem scientists out to die in deep space, so…”

“Okay, but have you considered, that this is going to be awesome?”

Jadite said something about the exterior not being adequately prepared for the extreme conditions they were likely to experience, and she’d probably have to overhaul some of the lab space to properly contain alien contaminants.  Johnne wasn’t fooled; he knew his dear friend had been daydreaming about cool aliens and weird plants ever since they started at the academy.  Besides, this was a chance for them to operate outside the confines of the military’s rigid chain of command, work within their strengths, and make some real discoveries, glory to the Empire.  

The Typheus was designed for a small crew; they would have four.  Well, officially it was three, but Johnne and Jadite counted their friend Davidh as well.  Yes, technically, he was registered as Johnne’s slave, which he had agreed to in order to avoid a far worse fate.  The hemospectrum wouldn’t count for much when they were in deep space; it was more important to be surrounded by friends.

Rosali wasn’t coming with them, since this assignment was way below her pay grade, and it was hard to choose a dinky little scout vessel over a swanky ocean palace.

“I think it would be advantageous for me to remain closer to the heart of the Empire,” she said.  “Someone will have to cover your asses when you inevitably get into trouble.”

Johnne and Jadite assumed identical expressions of innocence—’who, us?’—but it was somewhat undercut when Jadite began to giggle.

Instead of her, their fourth would be an acquaintance of Jadite’s from the academy.  Jakove Englis had some scientific training, enough to assist Jadite with her work and to be an extra pair of hands around the ship.  Johnne didn’t know him well, but based on their few conversations, he seemed to be as excited as all the rest of them combined.

It wasn’t until shortly before the scheduled launch that Johnne was reminded that their would be a fifth troll on the Typheus, a fact that he had done his best not to remember.

It wasn’t very captain-like, but Johnne couldn’t help but drag his feet on his way to the helmsblock.  He’d known that this was part of the package of having his own ship.  The academy had drilled him relentlessly on the necessity and basic functions of the helmsman, especially once it became apparent that he was going to be out in uncharted space.  Johnne was a damn good pilot, and had a pretty solid understanding of systems that would be powering his ship, and yet somehow it hadn’t felt real until now.

“I don’t wanna do this,” he whispered, so that no one but Jadite would be able to hear the promising young highblood captain whining like a wiggler.  “Can’t you do the final inspection?  You know way more about energy and psi systems than I do, anyway.”

His dear friend was unmoved.  “You’re the captain!” she said, dragging him along by his wrist.  “This is your responsibility, not mine.  And I got kicked out of my psi systems course.”  As a final project, she had constructed a generator to run on nuclear power rather than psi, insisting that it was far more efficient, less likely to break down, and didn’t have to be switched out every ten sweeps or so when the helmsman died a horrific death.  She then had several choice words for the instructor when he gave her a failing grade and told her that ‘midbloods should do as they’re told.’  That was beside the point, however.

Johnne grumbled all the way to the helmsblock, and fine, Jadite couldn’t help but sympathize.  It was backbreaking work, getting a ship ready to fly, but this task was probably the nastiest, especially for highbloods like Johnne who suffered from a rare and probably cull-worthy disease called ‘having a fucking shred of empathy.’  Still, if they all held their noses and did what they needed to do, there was a very real chance of getting off the ground by the end of the dark season!  That, at least, was worthy of celebration, right?

Frantic babbling greeted the two of them as they drew near.  Most of it was utter nonsense, but every once in a while they would hear mathematical formulas, a description of the helming process, and increasingly frequent pleas for help.  Johnne and Jadite grimaced in unison.  She took his hand, gave it a squeeze, and let go.  Holding their breath, the two of them finally entered.

The soon-to-be helmsman was strung up in the center of the helmsblock. His wrists and ankles were chained in place, while a small team of surgeons prepared to finish the procedure. Each of them saluted as Johnne approached, and one gave him a status report as the others worked.

“This is Dhirkk Stridr; just under ten sweeps, mid-level psionic, should be more than adequate for a vessel of this size.  He’s already been calibrated, and it’ll only take a few hours to attach him to the ship.  We’re ready to continue on your command, sir.”

Dhirkk reflexively snapped his teeth in the direction of a technician that was fussing with the ports on his back. The bite didn't land, of course, not while he was bound and barely aware of where he was and who was here with him. Words continued to spill from his lips, even though he was probably unable to hear his own voice. "Hadda get y'rself shot, stupid bird, stupid fuckin' bird, couldn't even screech at me'n I needed you to..."

Johnne did his best not to visibly recoil.  It was one thing to take an exam on how exactly one attached a psionic’s nerves to an electrical system (which had been admittedly awful); seeing the process in person was far worse.  “Aren’t they supposed to be unconscious for this?” he said.  Not that Stridr was particularly lucid, but it sure seemed like it would hurt once they started really fucking around with his spinal cord.

“The standard aesthetic has been ineffective,” the surgeon explained.  “It won’t interfere with the procedure, but increasing or changing the dosage will.”

“Won’t that hurt though?”  Johnne didn’t care if it was a stupid question; it was out of his mouth before he could give it a second thought, anyway.

The midblood surgeon was extremely careful not to demonstrate any signs of impatience.  “All helmsmen experience pain,” they said.  “This one will just start a little bit earlier.  It really isn’t a problem, sir.  We just need you to do a quick inspection, and with your approval we can get to work.”

Johnne and Jadite exchanged a helpless glance.  Without any other ideas, he nodded curtly and said, “Fine.  Harley, help me take a look.”

From what Johnne could see, the helmsman really had been calibrated and prepared properly.  Several ports lined his spine from the base of his neck to his lower back, allowing for the integration of the ship with his nervous system.  It was the first time Johnne had seen it in person.  It turned his stomach, but not as much as the way Stridr shuddered, while useless sparks leaped between his horns.

“This isn’t going to work,” Johnne said.  Once again, his mouth moved before he could fully process what he was saying.  Suddenly, all eyes in the room were on him.  For a moment, the only sound was the hum of the ship’s systems and the helmsman quietly beatboxing.

“What’s wrong, highblood?” the surgeon said, carefully hiding their exasperation.

Johnne put on his best stern captain voice and said, “The helmsman can’t be integrated, obviously.  Harley, tell them.”

Jadite was probably going to kick his ass for that later, but for now, she didn’t bat an eye.  “We’ve been having some problems with the environmental controls in the lab.  Nothing we can’t fix in a few nights, but you know how delicate the helming process is.  If we do it now, all of those problems will just be so much more complex, and then we might even have to come in and rewire the helmsman anyway!”

Thank the stars for Jadite Harley.  The team of surgeons appeared suspicious, but could not find a reason to argue.  They would still get paid for their time, whether or not they finished the procedure.

“Fine,” the lead doctor finally said.  “The psionic restraints should hold indefinitely.  If anything happens, we’re no longer liable.”

“Roger that!” Johnne said with an inappropriate level of enthusiasm.  The surgeons and technicians were keen enough to leave, and yet he still ended up rushing them out of the Helmsblock as quickly as he could manage.  When the heavy doors finally shut, leaving the captain and head scientist in with their unfinished, babbling engine, Johnne let out a sigh of relief, despite the fact that they now had another problem to deal with.

As soon as they were alone, Jadite was immediately moving to unfasten the chains holding Stridr in place.  This, of course, left him with nothing to hold him up, and the poor bastard dropped like a stone.  Johnne was able to catch him without much difficulty, although accidentally brushing his ports made him jerk in pain.  The would-be helmsman wasn’t as scrawny as the stereotypical psionic, but he was still small, and in awful shape; at the moment, he could do little more than twitch weakly in the highblood’s arms.

There was a moment of oppressive silence, broken only by Stridr’s ragged breath and mumbled nonsense, but finally Jadite said, “You didn’t think this far ahead, did you?”

Johnne couldn’t answer except to grin sheepishly, but fortunately, he didn’t need to.  Jadite was already deep in though, her eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed.  “I can set him up in the lab,” she said.  “But we need to figure out what we’re doing next.”

Johnne nodded solemnly and slung the psionic over his shoulder.  Dhirkk let out a strangled gasp, and as he was carried out of the helmsblock he babbled, “I’m sorry I’m sorry, I changed my mind…”

—

Jadite felt a little bit guilty about strapping the would-have-been helmsman down, but he was being really squirmy for a guy who was supposed to be unconscious!  It was a good thing she and Johnne had intervened when they did; waking up to find that you were wired into a ship was hellish enough—being even half-awake through the wiring process would be infinitely worse.  Still, after one of the psionic’s flailing limbs hit her redblooded square in the mouth, Jadite made the executive decision to strap him to the cot and make life easier on all of them.

Well, maybe not all of them.  The poor psionic was still having a pretty bad time.  Although he was moving around and talking a lot of shit, Jadite was willing to bet he wasn’t lucid.  Either way, he was pretty obviously distressed; his cheeks were stained with ochre tears, and half the time the sounds coming out of his mouth were little more than frantic babbling.

“How long is he gonna be like this?” Davidh said, carefully rubbing at his bruised upper lip.  His expression and tone of voice were deliberately even, but Jadite recognized the tension in the set of his shoulders, and was hardly surprised that he was upset.  She was starting to be pretty upset as well.

“The anesthetic was supposed to keep him unconscious for the duration of the installation,” she said.  “So, a couple hours?  But it’s already not working, so who knows.  The important thing is that someone’s here when he wakes up.”

That was Davidh’s cue to leave and turn his attention to something less upsetting, but if he got the hint, he pretended not to.  Instead, he dragged another chair up beside the helmsman’s cot and sat down.  The unfortunate drugged-up psionic had begun to make bird sounds.  Davidh made bird sounds back.  Dhirkk went silent, then choked out a sob.  Jadite gave her friend a well-deserved swat across the side of the head (although she was careful not to give him another bruise).

The last thing Davidh wanted was to be left alone with their drugged-up guest, but as the Head Scientist of the brand new vessel, it wasn’t long before Jadite was called off to deal with another task.  He assured her that he had everything under control, taking care not to let the sickening dread he felt seep into his voice.  

-

GT: Im telling you chum you can just come and hide out on my island! Its barely even charted and no one will ever think to look there.

TT: How many times do I have to tell you that I'm not going to do that? It's an outright necessity for me to be on the run, and I won't risk throwing you under the bus if anyone ever connects you to me.

GT: Confound it why do you have to be so thickheaded? Youre blowing this vastly out of proportion acting as if youre some kind of public enemy of the empire! No one is going to be trying nearly as hard to look for you as you are making it out to be so buck up find an isolated patch of wilderness and take it down a fucking notch!

TT: As charming as your naivety is, you vastly underestimate how strictly helmsman-grade psychics are controlled by the empire. I am already on record, and thus it won't be nearly as easy for me to disappear as you seem to think it will. I'm sorry for not wanting you to die a painful and horrific death if you are charged with somehow helping me evade enlistment.

GT: Horseshit! That is nothing but a patented stridr-brand basket of equine feces and on some level you know that as well. You dont have to do this alone.

TT: Yes, I do, haven't you been listening? I appreciate the offer, I really do. You're a good friend, Jakove.

GT: Do not get sappy with me stridr. Im not ready to say goodbye to you just yet.

TT: Of course, my mistake.

TT: I might have to leave you with a fond 'later, bro,' however. My lusus is a-chatterin' some hella sick birdy beats, and these rhymes aren't gonna spin themselves.

GT: Sigh. Farewell my friend! I recommend hot soup and plenty of rest and those ill beats will feel better in no time.

TT: Word.

-

If Jakove had really known that that really would be his last conversation with his dear friend, he might have been more reluctant to let Dhirkk sign off.  It had been a few nights, and although Stridr could be elusive at times, he had promised to call and extend his congratulations before Jakove went off-planet.  Dhirkk never would have let him leave without saying goodbye, but the call had never come.  All Jakove could do was hope that his friend was hiding, just like he always said he would, and was simply too paranoid to make contact.  He didn’t let any other possibility cross his mind, even as he read their last conversation over and over again.

Thinking about whatever fate might have befallen Dhirkk made Jakove’s gastric sac turn something awful.  Fortunately, preparing for The Typheus’s departure was a helpful distraction.  Living and working on a scientific exploration vessel was surely everything he had dreamed of.  While not a traditionally trained technician or scientific genius like Jadite, Jakove knew his way around some complicated equipment, especially after spending a good portion of his childhood going back and forth with… fuck.  That wasn’t important right now; he was too busy looking forward to exploring the stars, making new discoveries at the farthest reaches of the Empire!  Thoughts like these helped him maintain his sunny disposition, even through all the rush of preparing for the ship’s maiden voyage.  

Jadite, busy as she was, had to take care of some sort of business with some technicians working on the lower deck, leaving Jakove to set up some of the less delicate lab equipment.  It was this that brought him into the lab, carrying some heavy and probably extremely expensive doohickey with him.

He saw Davidh jump to his feet, his expression blank but his body rigid with apprehension, as if he had been caught doing something he shouldn’t.  That wasn’t what nearly made Jakove drop what he was carrying, however; rather, it was the sight of Dhirkk strapped face-down on a sterile cot, his back swollen and scarred from the preliminary helming operation.  Pity and dismay made Jakove’s blood pusher leap into his throat.  He set down his heavy cargo with perhaps a bit more force than recommended, and before he could stop himself, he blurted out, “What in the fresh flipping hell is this?”

Davidh began to say, “Hey wait, listen,” but Jakove didn’t hear him.  He had spent much of his childhood desperately hoping for a way to rescue Dhirkk from the doom that awaited him, and now he had just such an opportunity.  Without thinking he rushed toward his friend’s side, only to find Davidh blocking the way.  The redblood had his hands up in a placating gesture, but his voice carried a terse edge.  “Don’t touch him, what the hell are you doing?”

Jakove didn’t know this Stridr very well, but he seemed friendly enough, and he didn’t want to hurt him.  But the sight of Dhirkk in such a sorry state was setting his blood on fire, and he surely couldn’t be blamed for acting a little out of sorts.  Jakove’s voice was uncharacteristically stern as he said, “Davidh, old pal, I’m going to need you to stand aside.”

He could see the redblood’s eyes narrow behind his shades.  Davidh didn’t move, and so it was with no small amount of guilt that Jakove shoved him aside.  

That had been a mistake.  The little redblood turned out to be far quicker than anything Jakove had encountered on his island home, and before he even knew what kind of trouble he was in, pain blossomed from two sharp strikes to his knee and abdomen.  Jakove barely had time to cry out before Davidh knocked his legs out from under him, and he dropped like a sack of rocks.  Next thing he knew, he was staring up at the ceiling, the sharp point of a blade at his throat.  

Above him, Dhirkk moaned in pain, and Jakove thought he might cry.  Davidh had a foot planted on his chest and a sword at the ready; with nothing else to do but beg, Jakove did just that.  “Oh Davidh please, this is wrong, you know it is!  We have to let him go!”

The redblood hadn’t raised his voice once the entire time Jakove had known him, and he didn’t now, although it certainly seemed like he was thinking about it.  “Holy shit, would you hold your horses for two goddamn seconds?”

The last thing Jakove wanted to do was hold his horses, but he might have considered it—or he might have, if Dhirkk didn’t then say his name with such pain and terror in his voice that the poor greenblood saw red.  Without thinking he surged upward in a desperate lunge.  Davidh was kind enough to yank his sword back before Jakove impaled himself on it, but he could do nothing else before the larger troll slammed into him in a full-body tackle.  As soon as Jakove got a hold of him, the redblood had firmly lost the upper hand, but that didn’t stop him from thrashing like a wild animal, and it certainly didn’t stop him from yelling at the top of his lungs, “Jadite!”

Loud footsteps could be heard approaching the lab, and they were rapidly growing louder.  At that moment Jakove realized that this had all gone pretty fucking pear-shaped.  Then the lab door was slamming open, and oh, Jadite Harley did not look pleased.  Jakove supposed he could relate to the fury that came from seeing one’s lowblood friend in danger, but this didn’t make her withering glare any easier to withstand.

Well, he had come this far.  Jakove gathered what remained of his courage and said, “L-let my friend go, or I swear I’ll…”

Jadite bared her teeth and snarled, a low, bestial sound.  Jakove dropped the redblood without any further prompting, and Davidh was quick to scramble away.

The lab was deathly silent, except for Dhirkk; he might have been more lucid than when Jadite last checked on him, but he certainly was not all there.  His voice was strained and cracked something awful, and yet he continued to plead, “Jakove, don’t—get him out of here, don't let him do anything stupid for me!"

Jadite’s glare softened just a little, but Jakove didn’t notice.  Grief and frustration made his breath catch, and he exclaimed, “Stridr, you insufferable horse’s ass, who do you think is doing the rescuing at the moment!”

Dhirkk wasn’t in much of a state to answer, but the other Stridr was.  “Yeah, how’s that going for you, bro?” Davidh said icily.  The comment wasn’t necessary; Jakove already felt like an idiot.  He couldn’t know what the consequences of his failure would be, but he could guess.  He hid his face in his hands.  

He heard Jadite move toward him, and fully expected to get socked in the face.  Instead, when he opened her eyes, she was hovering over Dhirkk, checking to see if his condition had changed.  The poor troll was trembling violently, and Jakove had to guess that it was only exhaustion and weakness that kept him from struggling against his bonds.  “Jakove—what is he doing here?”  His voice was hoarse, but the clearest it had been since Johnne and Jadite first heard him babbling in the helmsblock.  “What’s going on?”

Only now did it occur to Jakove that the ship’s lab was nowhere near helmsblock, and although he wasn’t an expert in psi systems and installation procedures, he couldn’t think of any reason Dhirkk would be here.  Hesitantly, as if voicing his concerns would break some sort of spell that had fallen over the room, he said, “The gent has a point.  I, ahem, can’t help but feel like I’m missing out on some crucial tidbits here.  What is going on?”

The way Jadite looked at him clearly said that he was still in the doghouse, but her gaze had none of the fury from before.  One hand rested gently on Dhirkk’s shoulder as she spoke.  “Honestly?” she said.  “I’m not entirely sure, either.  But I guess we do have some explaining to do.”

[factsdontmatteranymore-blog]

Shook Ones interview

Tried doing a new zine back in December but the only band that got back to me with an interview was Shook Ones about a month and a half later. I really like how it came out so I figured I’d put it online. All their sales from Bandcamp this weekend are being donated to the ACLU and they also have a test pressing of their Easel split up on Ebay also going towards that. Check all that out.

Hi Kelly how’s it going today? What’s the current line-up of Shook Ones and how’s Seattle treating y’all? Seattle is still a very nice place to be, no matter how many project managers Amazon brings here.  The band lineup solidified a little over a year ago, now its Scott, Kelly, Bo, Aaron, and Phil.

You guys played a little bit this year along the west coast, how’d those shows go? What do you like about touring in 2016? What’s your favorite tour memory from previous years? All the shows that we've gotten to play recently have been so enjoyable! Traveling a bit on the west coast was very cool, the shows were great and we got to play with bands that are rad and have a bunch of long-time friends in them.  Since we're just dipping our toes back into the water of being a bit more active, it was nice to get out and play and do stuff as a band.  As far as "touring in 2016" goes, we're not really in the position where our band is the only thing we've got going on in our lives, so we're not talking about being on the road full-time or anything close to it.  We're able to do short trips so we're flying to save time, staying with friends or family that are central to a few shows... basically its a brief vacation where we play music.  It's great, and we're fortunate to be able to do it like this, or really to still be playing at all!

So you guys have made it very clear you’re writing for a new LP, probably the most annoying questions for any band but what can people expect from it? What influences are you drawing for it? Do you know who’s putting it out yet? Really happy you're asking about it, but I'm really gonna struggle if I try to give any explicit description of what's been going into the writing process.  All five of us have brought songs or riffs or revisions to the table, and we've already got a wide pool of material.  We had a practice where all we did was narrow down what to focus on for the record, and we've still got more than will fit on an LP!  Don't expect a double LP with bizarre instrumentation and pretentious experimental jams, though. Like our other LP's, you'll hear us trying out some new stuff here and there, but it'll still sound like Shooks. I do have a delay pedal I've been meaning to put to good use, though.

Between the three LPs which do you prefer? They’re obviously a lot different from each other, is there anything specific you like to take away from each of them? It's a tricky question to answer, but I think if someone were to tally up which LP has the most songs that we perform right now, it would be The Unquotable AMH.  And that's kinda how it should be if we think we're writing music that we still want to put out there.  The song we write today is gonna reflect what we're thinking and feeling and listening to today.  That's not to say that a lot of Shooks material isn't still important to us since its older or because it doesn't end up in the set, but I don't think we want to do the same record over and over.  We're also not so different as songwriters from record to record that you're gonna love one and hate another.  Actually people probably do feel that way, and it's very cool if people who care about music have strong opinions! AMH also has the benefit in that it's probably the most accurate representation of our sound, sonically. Our buddy Jackson did that record with us and has done everything since, and will be doing our new LP when we get to it. He's an old, old friend and he just gets us, y'know? Plus he's pretty fucking talented.

What’s next for Shook Ones besides new music? Getting the new music written/recorded/release are really the only items on the agenda for the immediate future.  We will play some more shows eventually, but it isn't anything we're focusing on at the moment. Was it wild putting out records with Rev? I’m sure working with them in the 2000s was odd. What are your favorite releases they put out? It was great. Bob Shedd was doing A&R at the time, he's great, and he's responsible for recruiting all of those bands that happened at the same time (Sinking Ships, End of a Year, Gracer), bands who we are all still buds with till this day. And of course, it was a trip to have a record come out this legendary label that we all grew up. When our first 7" came out on Rev, it was pretty unbelievable to think that we got to be REV134. Seeing our name on that label's discography is still a pretty incredible thing, even as we get old and jaded. There are lots of incredible records that are universally celebrated that Revelation put out.  It feels silly to list them here, like "ever heard of Youth of Today/Warzone/Gorilla Biscuits/Chain of Strength/Judge?", so feel free to just assume we all love that.  CIV is one of my favorite bands.  Here's a couple that might be consider overlooked: Battery - Whatever It Takes By A Thread - Last of the Daydreams Elliott - False Cathedrals Garrison - The Bend Before the Break, A Mile in Cold Water. Oh, and I think the World Be Free record that came out recently is awesome, too. Shook Ones has played Vegas like a couple times right? Anything fun memories from that? We actually have not ever played Vegas! We were supposed to a couple times and they both got cancelled right beforehand. I know we all have friends in Vegas and are big fans of its neighbors (Reno, ABQ, LA, etc) so I'm sure we'd have loved it, it just wasn't meant to be. I actually still have never been to Vegas in my life, which is nutty. I've been to Orlando like a dozen times, but never Vegas. That doesn't seem right. That Run For Cover 7” is seriously so underrated, those songs are so good in my opinion and I feel like it doesn’t really get talked about that much. What can you tell me about those songs? Like what they’re about and where you guys were when writing and recording them Those songs came at a strange transitional time. We had members spread out in grad school and had just started playing with our famously talented new (and current) drummer, Aaron O'Neill. While all of our songs are pretty collaborative, due to the distance and timing, those ones actually ended up being largely the brainchild of our singer, Scotty. Those were also the first recordings we did in our friend Jackson's studio that he built (along with plenty of carpentry from Scott), so I think that environment and his input really helped to shape those, as well. It was kind of a stressful and tricky situation to navigate, but being able to just hunker down with him and knock them out made things SO MUCH easier and, at the end of the day, better. What do you all do outside of the band? Scott makes rain jackets, sells clothing and builds things. Kelly teaches ungrateful adolescents. Bo spins spreadsheets all day with his cousin/our friend Derek (who did backup vocals on AMH) Aaron does cabinetry and has many drumming projects. Phil upsets small children with Autism and records bands. What music are you into currently? Oh man, the Division EP is the best thing to ever be heard by the human ear, and if you still buy records, it is available from Alternatives Label.  The Solar demo that came out through Alternatives is also the single best thing you'll ever get to check out. While you're there you might as well get the Hiding Place EP which is pretty good, and then get on Bandcamp to track down the Lowest Priority demo before those are all gone. And Golden West Service put an EP called See up on Spotify that is the best thing that exists on the internet. Drug Church has been consistently knocking it out of the park, and a couple of our friends put the Open City LP that dropped just today and is pretty incredible. I’m visiting Seattle for the first time in January, besides freezing to death what stuff should I be doing up there? Where the crap is the Brotherhood picture? Well, we're responding to this just a bit too late to help you for your trip, but we've got cool hikes nearby and places to eat and record stores.  Kerry Park is where the Brotherhood photo comes from, and it's one of the only views of Seattle where the Space Needle looks bigger than the rest of the skyline.  Formerly the Jimi Hendrix Experience Music Project, the MoPop (Museum of Pop) is really cool every time I go. Seattle is less of a tourist, "make sure you hit this" spot and more of a just explore and experience type spot, so I'm sure nothing we would have said would have changed much. Sorry it was cold as shit, though! Thanks for your time Kelly! is there anything else you wanna add? No John, thank you! Sorry this took so long. One day we'll be on time.

[poppedmusic]

SXSW 2018

Words & Photos: Elena Katrina

It’s a strange feeling this post-SXSW sensation. I feel both broken and exhilarated at the same time. There’s no amount of preparation you can take for either the festival nor the post-festival emotions. This festival is a beast. There is no other way to say it and I was thrilled beyond words to be attending for the first time as press so I could report back on some of the British contingent out there showing the world what they’ve got. And they showed it and then some. One thing I heard a lot was “throw the schedule out the window and just go with the flow”. Even that was difficult. I missed things I wanted to see but ended up having experiences and seeing things I never knew existed.. so I feel inclined to agree, to some extent anyway.

I didn’t waste any time in throwing myself into the SXSW experience and not long after having thrown my case into my hotel room I was straight out the door and headed to the British Music Embassy where I found Wyldest were treating the crowd to their special blend of shoegaze pop. I like that my first night I got to watch two bands I’d never seen live before – even if I had travelled 11 hours to do it. Life was the last of the night and I wasn’t prepared for them. Loud, brash and in your face. Dark but with some humour and an attitude I feel they could only get away with because they were from Hull. They did Hull proud that’s for sure.

It’s going to be nigh on impossible for me to tell you a review for each and every band at this festival. I was there to check out a load of the British bands, some I’d seen many a time, some never and some  that were altogether new to me, as well as check out the overall SXSW experience. And an experience indeed it is.

Navigation is not my strong point, even with a map, when it comes to walking … I seem to go in circles, or squares as it was in Austin. It didn’t deter me though. I figured out my way to a few key venues for the official evening shows and then just wondered to my heart’s content during the day. I  tried to go to a few of the talks, they seemed really interesting, but every time I got there, I was too late to get into a room. While they did stream the audio to a TV in the corridor, I don’t so much engage that well, especially not when there are people to see elsewhere. To the boss women of Instagram though I say …. definitely selfie!

The daytime also hosted unofficial parties, events and talks. Many of where you could grab yourself a free breakfast, and or lunch, while you learned all kinds of things and got to mingle with like-minded people. In particular, I enjoyed Brunch with the Brits – an event aimed, I presume, at visiting musicians. But here I got to talking about a lot of different things with a really great variety of people from PRS Foundation to the BBC. I was also fascinated by the sales pitch of Soundcloud at AWAL House. Their model has changed and it’s, in my opinion, still got a way to go to bridge the gap. Ultimately though it’s still a very popular site and the turn out proved so.

Back to bands? Francobollo blew my tiny little socks off and made for excellent festival companions too. I wholeheartedly hope to catch up with these guys again back on British soil and will follow their journey with a keen interest. Pale Waves, I was, of course, already hot on the tail of, having watched them play over the last 18-24 months, it was great to see them play to a tiny outside stage at an unofficial party thanks to Secret Sounds (who also, secretly, let me in). Get the general crowd’s feel for them over a room of industry all pining to see the next big thing (which, they are). As I suspected much of the crowd here seemed immune to the hype but most people were left smiling and enthused by the end, one or two seemed genuinely bemused, and I liked that too.

This year is the year of the girl… when it comes to band names anyway. We had Goat Girl, Only Girl, Girl Ray AND Our Girl all hitting up stages across SXSW. Admittedly I have a bit of a problem when it comes to seeing bands more than once, and not content with having seen Our Girl the week before I came away, I also managed to see them play 3 times at SXSW – the inability to leave their set not a problem I really want to seek help for. I am mesmerised every time I see them play. Only Girl played a showcase that wasn’t as well attended as I’d have liked, though her competition down the road was Gaz Coombs, and let’s not think about the rest. The crowd were fully onboard though, and like me, knew that they’d made the right decision in witnessing something special from this young lady. Eyes open for her, she’s incredible.

The indie bands were also in town; The RPMs bringing up some of the best jangly guitar sounds Brighton has to offer. A more artsy vibe could be found from Catholic Action, who come with a huge side of a dry sense of humour. I’m not ashamed to say I stood and danced and sung out in the street to them when I couldn’t get in for the whole set. Duo Ider also set the bar high during their free show for Secret Sounds, even at midday the show was full and it took me a while but a few songs in I realised I had seen them before and felt that same wave of excitement flow over me, only this time I had a band name, and they were there, right in front of me.

Back to the girls… Women anyway. This was a strong theme, for obvious reasons and there was plenty of chance to meet up officially and unofficially with the women of music. Vevo house was a great place to go for this and I met some fantastic women making, producing, managing, booking, you name it they were doing it. I also got to see the wonderful Jade Bird play at this venue – her personality shining as clearly as her talent. What a woman! She wasn’t alone in making waves during her time at SXSW, a young Suzi Wu was up and my god does she have something to say. She struts the stage, she owns her lyrics and she’s not intimidated in any way shape or form. An alt-grime-punk Debbie Harry. Perfect and I was so excited to finally get to witness her thrill a room.

Communion Music Presents. Three of my favourite words. I was shocked to find out that I didn’t know they had a showcase until the day before and from that moment on all other gigs were off. I was going to church and worship at the musical alter. How could I not? For me, this evening was the most emotional, nothing to do with the church, but the bands that Communion pull are often exceptional emotive songwriters and performers. New to me was Amy Shark, an Australian singer-songwriter, who hit some notes so nicely I thought she had potential to break the stained glass windows. Lucy Rose almost brought me to full on sobs, especially with her storytelling and her humility at playing the show. I initially thought that Dermot Kennedy was a stagehand, strolling across the stage wearing a tracksuit (even though it was about 30 degrees outside) and then when he started to sing – holy moly. I felt like it took him a while to warm up, not vocally, but to own the stage, to perform rather than just sing – though his” just sing” isn’t your everyday person’s “just sing”. Nope. This guy tore the roof off and it was left to Newcastle’s Sam Fender to keep it right off and he did just that. I enjoyed his impromptu singing at the piano – though, the tech guys didn’t seem to agree. It raised a smile after what had been a fairly intense evening.

In between watching bands there was time to explore some of the city, ok not really, that’s a bit of a lie! There’s no exploring unless it happens to be on the way to the next; venue, exhibition, talk, interview, network meeting. What I did see of Austin was that it totally came alive while SXSW was in full throws. You’d think there would be lots of grumpy residents wishing the weeks away, not able to sleep for the thud of bass going long and deep into the night, not being able to travel to work the usual route as roads were closed left right and centre and having to wait in line to eat in their favourite restaurant. Well, I’m happy to report I didn’t witness any grump. So either everyone moved out for a while or everyone was just happy to be a part of the amazing experience that is SXSW. I imagine though it’ possibly a good mix of the two.

On my last day at SXSW I got to meet the daughter of the man who helped to set up the original Fader Fort. THE place to be, if that is, you get a sacred invite. Turns out that family and friends have, well, more family and friends all over the place. So not only did I get to hear about Fader Fort I also got to spend much of my last time at SXSW doing it in true Austin Resident stylee! I got to visit an awesome dive bar called The Yellow Jacket Social Club, a club that I’m lead to believe won’t still be around next year as gentrification moves ever further past the freeway. I got to learn about new buildings just open and those coming and how the city’s landscape is ever evolving as the city grows in so many ways. I also got to check out some bands I would otherwise have missed. The glorious electronic art folk that is The Octopus Project played to a full crowd at Mowhawk was the first treat. A local Austin based band who delighted me with their use of a theremin. One guy asked me what it was called, he could obviously sense exactly how delighted I was! The main musical feast was that of musical art collective CAPYAC, they describe themselves as a surreal dance band… and I’d go with that too! I feel like I don’t want to expand too much on this because I want the intrigue to send you off to go and find them, book them, see them, keep them in a small box by your bedside table…. Just so much fun.

Later on a Saturday evening I met up with a new friend and got put into a taxi and taken off to the middle of nowhere (ok, not quite) but it was all hush hush. A private party we’d been invited to by a band she’d met. It was an utterly surreal way to end my SXSW experience and at the same time was the perfect ending at that.

It seems like there’s so much more to talk about, like the fact you get to meet musicians who aren’t even playing, make friends that you somehow feel you’ll never quite forget even if you don’t stay in touch – but you should – because, SXSW. The cool Glasgow music event that I missed but need to go to next time around, the opportunities to meet people and talk about the passion you hold, and it’s ok to just burst into laughter, or song, at any given time. Free snickers, free hugs, free drinks, free m&ms, free swag full stop. So many tote bags. But bets of all… the. live.music. Please have us back SXSW, life is forever changed now. You ruined me and I love you for it.

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Festival Review: SXSW 2018 SXSW 2018 Words & Photos: Elena Katrina It's a strange feeling this post-SXSW sensation. I feel both broken and exhilarated at the same time.

[writingitalloutonewordatatime]

23-11-17

Dear Jesus, 

I just want to tell you how angry I am with you, but I’m not sure that I really can. I’m not sure that I can tell you the depths of which I don’t think you considered my feelings - not even a little, not even at all - and how you took advantage of them. Through all of the times that I told you that I wanted to be with you, through all of the times that I told you I would never share and would never want to; and all you did was take, take, take until there was nothing left for me to give. And you knew that; you knew that and didn’t want to have that conversation. 

“How is this any different than when we were dating?” I asked, thinking the answer was simple: it wasn’t. “We’re not promised to each other.” You replied and I knew what that meant. That you could have me, that you could take all of those words of support and reassurement and you could go to other people with them anyways. That I would only be one of however many you deemed appropriate; even if I was the top one it was a competition you had entered me in without my consent or want. And for that, I’m angry. I feel so fucking stupid for it, too. How did I not see it coming? 

For every time that I told you that I didn’t think it was over, you took those words and you reiterated them in your own way. Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t. There was never a straight answer and I stupidly mistook that for some sort of hope when there wasn’t any. When I was betraying myself because love is blind, deaf and stupid and god if I wasn’t all of those things, too. And you knew that I had feelings about it, you knew how much I cared about you, for you, how much care I had put into you. And all of this came at the cost of my own well-being. All of it came at the cost of my mental health, my physical and emotional health because I took care of you, but for your part, you never did take care of me. 

“I want to be with you, but not halfway. I can’t be one of multiple.” I’ll stand by that statement until my dying day because I won’t settle for that. I will have all of you or none of you, no matter how much every fiber of my being longs to talk to you, wishes you were here besides me. Because it’s been one fucking day and I already miss you. That’s what you’ve done to me - and I wouldn’t call it co-dependency or anything at all like that. It’s such an ugly way to phrase it. You made me care about something outside of me. Outside of my own little world where everything was neatly tucked away and no one could touch me. Where I was alright in my isolation, keen on the tower I’d built that no one had figured out how to breach. 

“I can talk to you when I’m ready to make long term decisions.” But I don’t fit into your short term life when what I want is in conflict with what you want. “If that’s what you think is best.” I replied, but you can’t stop talking to me, and your resolve diminished after less than twenty four hours. You didn’t have to wish me a happy thanksgiving; no one forced you to. You didn’t have to tell me about the pie that I posted on instagram being beautiful - you looked for a way into my life, for a straw to grasp at to make a conversation. 

I don’t know how many different ways I can tell you the same thing, either. This feels terrible because it’s wrong. Because you know, deep down, that it’s not what you wanted to do; you’ve said it several times and I don’t know how to elaborate that most people don’t just ignore that. Most people don’t give up what they want. I told you off, for treating me like your girlfriend when I’m there and then going back to whatever you wanted to do when I left. I can’t live like that, wondering who you’re with, if she makes you happy. If she’s just for a quick fuck before you go back to your games. You don’t open up easily, but I can’t be an emotional crutch for you to lean on while you’re off talking to other people. To even think that I would want to do that is absurd. It’s unfair. God, it’s so fucking unfair. 

“You say things that confuse me and I can’t hold onto something that I don’t know anything about.” I told you. 

“I don’t know. I will do a better job of treating you as a friend? it feels terrible though.”  “I don’t want to be your friend. I have never wanted to be your friend. If it feels terrible then it’s not right.” 

But you can’t tell someone something that they don’t want to hear. You can’t make someone believe something that they don’t see. You can’t make someone understand what they’re unwilling to and I’ve never sought to change you. I just wish you’d understand that you’re breaking my heart, over and over again. And I know that you’ll see that one day, that you’ll find yourself face to face with the truth that you’re just not ready to face. You can’t treat me as a friend, you can’t stop talking to me, you can’t just give me up or move on because it’s not over. But, maybe it’s time for one of us to finally give up that hope. Maybe it’s time for me to just stop responding; you need to understand that there are consequences for your actions. 

Love is not something that you can blame for your pain and confusion. It’s the people that you love that do that. When you’re good though, baby, you’re so good. And when you’re bad it’s like there’s nothing there at all and I don’t know how to survive or navigate that. I don’t know how to understand the things that you’re thinking or feeling when you don’t fucking tell me about them. And I was serious, when this is over, when it’s truly and properly over, I will disappear and maybe then you’ll realize the weight of the world was lifted just a bit because I tried to help you carry it. I just hope that it doesn’t crush you. I just hope that you remember how to hold it, without asking for help because you surround yourself with people who will never help you, who will never be accountable to help you or act for themselves. 

When you realize what you want, when you’re ready to think about things in the long term, I pray for you, that if you realize I’m what you want, I’m still ready to be there. That I’ll still want to be there. That I won’t make you work to show me that you’re willing to put in the work that this relationship will need after all of the things and time that I’ve been put through. After all of the things that you’ve damaged. I don’t know what to tell you, anymore, my love. You’re used to being alone and one day you’re going to wake up and realize that you wish you weren’t. One day you’re going to wake up and think about the things that you gave up, for no reason at all, and wish that you could take it back. Because the relationship that you’ve said was the easiest, that the one that didn’t detract from you, the one that lifted you up and that you just genuinely liked shouldn’t have been the one that you ended so abruptly. 

Especially now that you can’t give it up. If you’re going to leave me alone then do it, then show me one final act of kindness and allow me to move on. But that’s not what you want; you have no idea what you want at all. And, for that, I wish you all of the best. I wish that you find that inner peace and certainty. I hope that you find something to hold onto when everything else falls away and you’re left alone. And I hope you don’t become more jaded for it; the world is unkind and you can be too - we all can be - but when you team up together, nothing can bring you back from that sort of abuse. 

I wish you well, even at my own expense. As I said, love is blind, deaf and stupid, and so have I been.