#give it one week before they latch on to Kane

[arielthelionhearted]

No but I do love how the fans ~suddenly~ 'can't connect' with Dänia's Cïnderella. Even though she fits the badass-princess-who-saves-herself trope and generally fits into the oüat formula that has made all her predecessors well-received in the past and has great chemistry with her male lead.

[obxlife]

One Thing Right (Rafe x Reader)

A/N: Okay so first of all, I love Rafe. I think he’s one of the best and most complicated characters by faaaar. So I was going to write a Rafe fic eventually, but I received a message that made me say Fuck it and start writing right away. Also, I decided to use the lyrics of the song One Thing Right (Marshmello & Kane Brown) to write this soooo yeah.

Pairing: Rafe x Reader

Request: literally anything Rafe I will read it (not really a request but this is the exact message I got that made me want to write a Rafe fic)

Summary: Mainly about your relationship with Rafe and its dynamic.

Warnings: Drug use, sex, fighting, mentions of murder, swearing

ONE THING RIGHT

I’ve cheated and I’ve lied

I’ve broken down and I’ve cried

I've got nothing to hide no more

You walked into the Cameron’s house expecting to see Rafe waiting for you on the stairs as he usually did. You had been dating for over a year, and every time Rafe would send you a message asking you to hang out, he would wait on his stairs until you arrived. 

However, this time he wasn’t there. 

You could also hear muffled screams coming from the upper floors of the house, and as you walked up, you realized they came from Ward’s office. 

“What are you even doing with your life, Rafe?” you heard him scream at your boyfriend. “Where are the generators? Huh?”

You couldn’t hear Rafe’s replies, so you left the office door behind and turned towards his room. Once inside, you sat upon his king-sized bed waiting for his arrival. 

Only a couple of minutes later did he walk in. There were tears brimming his lash line, and he froze once he saw you. 

“I forgot you were coming over,” he said, wiping his eyes on the back of his hands.

“Yeah, I guessed as much,” you replied. “What was all the screaming about?”

“Just drop it, Y/N,” he tried to brush it off.

This had been occurring for a while now, where you asked Rafe a question and he would try to avoid responding. Sometimes he would just ignore it. 

“You can tell me,” you whispered to him as he lay down beside you and rubbed a hand on your thigh.

Rafe simply sighed, closing his eyes and turning away. Was he really shutting you out? Not once before had there been a secret between the both of you, and now he wasn’t even talking to you. 

Pissed off, you stood from the bed and grabbed your bag. You approached the door, but right before you touched the handle, you heard a sob come from Rafe’s lips. 

Instantly, you turned back towards him. You sat down on the mattress as softly as you could and brought out an arm to rub circles around his back. 

You stayed like this for a little while longer, until he sat up and turned towards you. He hugged you tighter than he had ever hugged anybody before. He could feel you whispering sweet nothings in his ear but he couldn’t make out a single word you said. 

All of a sudden he said, “I’ve been doing cocaine for a month.”

Your movements stopped. “What?”

Rafe pulled away, feeling how tense you were, and tried to explain himself. 

“I - I tried it a couple of weeks ago, and then I just couldn’t stop. Everything feels so fucking good when I’m high. I don’t worry about my dad or Sarah or Wheezie or anyone and I feel free. I feel no pressure from anyone.”

“What do you mean you’ve been doing cocaine?” you asked, still in complete shock.

“I - I - I just went to the Cut this one time. And I met Barry. He gives me it as long as I sell it. But I haven’t been able to sell as much as I planned, so I gave him the money I had saved. And that way I could still keep buying it.”

“Why would you do that?”

“It makes me feel free. B - but now, I have no money, and I owe Barry, and I owe my dad some generators, and - fuck. I just don’t know what to do. Y/N, I need you to help me, please.”

Anger took over you. “Help you get off of the fucking drug you’re using or help you pay back the money you owe so you can keep buying that shit?”

Rafe stuttered. “B - b - both.”

He stared at you in a pleading manner, but you were still angry at him. “Rafe, I swear to God, if you’re lying to me and you only want to pay the money back so you can buy more fucking drugs I -”

“I won’t,” he promised, cutting you off. “I just need to get back on my feet.”

You sighed, feeling sorry for him. You couldn’t just not help him. He was the love of your life, and he needed you. 

“If you are lying, Rafe, I’m going to be so angry,” you made clear as you took his hands in yours to show that you would help him. 

“I’m not, I’m not,” he assured. “I have nothing to hide from you anymore.”

I've loved and I've hurt

Broken people down with words

More grace than I deserved, for sure

“What the actual fuck, Rafe?” you asked him as you held onto the small bag filled with white powder. “You said you were going to stop.”

Rafe groaned as he heard your screams. “I know, I know. This is just a small fallback, babe.”

“Small fallback, my ass,” you continued to scream. “What are you going to do when all of your money goes down the drain because of this stuff?”

“Y/N, I’m telling you. It was just a fallback. I swear this won't happen again.”

You scoffed. This made his anger rise. “Yeah, right.”

Your sarcasm was not helping Rafe feel better about himself, and he was pissed that you, the one person he felt was supposed to support him no matter what, were angry at him. 

“Just shut the fuck up, okay?” he suddenly exploded. You immediately fell quiet. “I’m fucking trying to get my shit together, okay? So stop being a bitch about it and shut up!”

You felt as if all the wind inside of your body had been knocked out of you from a punch. You felt your heart break softly as you tried to forget what Rafe had just called you. 

Realization hit him once he saw the empty look and your eyes and the tears about to fall. He felt guilty as he attempted to take your hands in his. You pulled away. 

“Baby, I'm so sorry. I didn’t mean that. At all,” he tried to reassure you. “I was just mad at myself for having done drugs again. It isn’t you, okay?”

You believed him. You truly did. So ignoring the pain in your chest you put your hands in his. “Okay.”

“I promise,” he began, “to never do this again. I’m sorry I hurt you. Can you forgive me?”

Trying to smile at him, you felt a tear escape your eye. He brushed his thumb against your cheek to wipe it away. 

“Yeah.”

Rafe, noticing that you were letting him touch you again, pulled you into a hug, rubbing your back and whispering into your ear: “You are so much more than I deserve.”

You stayed still but mentally nodded along with him. You were more than he deserved, but he would eventually become someone that deserved you with your help.

Known to be crazy, known to be wild

Mama had to suffer a little devilish child

Ain't no stranger to the troubles at my door

The party surrounding you was in full swing. 

You were sipping from a cup and you looked around at the rest of the Kooks, smiling and laughing. Their expensive clothes were similar to yours, and you tried to count all of the Rolex watches you sighted. You quickly lost count due to the fact that there were too many. 

Music was coming out from the speakers but instead of dancing, you stood to the side. You were sipping on a red solo cup filled with beer when you felt two strong hands circle your waist. 

“Hey, baby,” Rafe said into your ear. You smiled and turned towards him so you were chest to chest. 

“Hey.”

You looked over his shoulder and noticed all of his friends were accompanying him. You smiled at them as if to say hello. 

Suddenly the song changed and you recognized it as Rafe’s favorite. Gasping he turned towards his friends and began belting it out with them, all the while still latching onto your hand. 

You smiled as they became goofier with their actions as the song continued, and noticed that you hadn’t seen him smile like that in a while. 

Soon enough he was drunk and was pulling you on top of a table to dance around with him. He was the life of the party, boisterous and outgoing, and he pulled you along with him. You laughed and danced and followed his lead in regards to every single idea he had that night. From jumping from Topper’s roof into his pool, to sneaking into Topper’s parent’s room, and to smoking some weed. 

You had been drinking the whole night and excused yourself to go to the bathroom. As you went in you heard some girls gossiping about someone bringing coke to the party. At this, your ears perked up. However, they never mentioned who had brought it. 

You exited the bathroom and began to look for your boyfriend, but he was nowhere to be found. You began to grow frustrated and angry. You just wanted to make sure it wasn’t Rafe consuming the drugs. 

Finally, around an hour later, you found him. He was seated around a table that clearly had some traces of the white powder you hated. He was surrounded by his friends and a couple of random people, but when he caught your eyes he smiled. 

He walked towards you. “Hey, where were you?”

“In the bathroom,” you replied, trying to look into his eyes. 

“I missed you,” the blond said, smiling at you. Finally, you managed to look into his eyes. Fuck. His pupils were dilated. He had definitely done more than a line tonight.

You wanted to get mad, but you couldn’t. The one thing you had noticed about him tonight was that he had been extremely happy. You decided you would let it go for now. You couldn’t bear to break the smile he had right now on his face.

I've been at the wrong place at the wrong time

Chasin' all the wrong things most of my life

Been every kinda lost that you can't find

Rafe was pounding into you as you both panted. 

You had been alone in your house when you decided to invite him over, and things had quickly escalated. 

When you were both done he pulled out and lay next to you. You were still panting and relishing on what the feeling of him inside you had felt like when you turned towards him and pushed yourself onto his chest. 

You snuggled into him, ready to fall asleep. Your arms went around him, causing you to feel the hills and valleys of his muscles that covered his abdomen. 

You sighed happily.

However, Rafe was not wrapping his hand around you and instead was reaching for his phone. Barry had sent him some messages.

“Babe,” he said while trying to softly push you off of him. “I need to go.”

You frowned. “Why? I thought you said you weren’t busy.”

Fuck, Rafe thought. “Um, yeah. But Topper said he needed my help with something.”

He was lying, of course, But you believed him, pouting to show how displeased you were with him. He just laughed as he pulled his pants on. 

“I promise next time we’re gonna cuddle for a really long time,” he said, leaning down to kiss your lips softly. 

“It’s okay,” you said softly, “but I’m going to remember your promise about next time.”

Rafe laughed again and leaned down one more time to kiss you before exiting your room. A few seconds later you heard your front door close. 

You decided to shower as you felt icky all over from your previous activities with your boyfriend. Prodding into the bathroom, you turned the water on and hopped in. You scrubbed your skin and washed your hair before cutting the drain and stepping out into the steamy bathroom. 

Right when you were done getting dressed your phone rang. 

“Hello?” you said, picking up the call without looking at the caller. 

“Hey, Y/N. It’s Top.”

Why was Topper calling you? “Um, hey. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he assured, “I was just calling because I can’t reach Rafe. He with you?”

You were shocked. Rafe had lied to you? Where the fuck was he?

Then, everything seemed to click. He was probably at Barry’s. 

“Um, no,” you answered Topper. “Sorry.”

Topper sighed. “It’s fine. Well, anyway, talk to you later.”

Once he hung up the phone you pulled up to your text messages with Rafe.

You: Where are you?

You: And don’t lie. I know you aren’t with Topper. He called me.

You waited for his reply. However, nothing came back. He had left you on read. 

You fucking knew it. He was with Barry. Again. 

Been the kind of guy girl's mamas don't like

Runnin' with the wrong crowd on the wrong nights

'Cause I've been wrong about a million times

But I got one thing right, you

Rafe was sobbing into your chest. You were in shock, one hand in his hair and the other on his back, but both unmoving. 

Rafe had killed Sheriff Peterkin. He had really done it. You couldn't believe that your boyfriend was a killer. 

His arms tightened around you as he kept on sobbing and you were brought back to reality. 

“Oh my God,” you said as you tried to push him away. “Please tell me your lying or that this is some sick, twisted joke.”

You finally pushed him off of you. He tried to mask the hurt in his eyes that he felt from you distancing yourself but he failed. 

“Why would I lie?” he asked looking down at his hands. They were trembling. 

“Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck, fuck fuck.”

“But, baby, it was an accident, okay?” he tried to convince himself as well as you. “It wasn’t on purpose. I didn’t want that to happen.”

You believed him. That was what baffled you the most. You always believed whatever he said. However, you shook your head. “N - no, Rafe. You killed her.”

“Don’t say that!” he screamed. “I didn’t do that!”

You were shocked but not scared. He wouldn’t hurt you, you knew. But you also knew that you couldn't just let him know that you believed him. You had to know if he was sorry, and you had to find a way for him to change.

You curled up into a ball trying to get away from him. Your back was pressed so deep into his wall you were afraid you might fall right through it. This was all an act.

You needed to convince him to change. You had to make him believe you wanted to leave., So you shoved yourself up and turned towards the door, but found it was suddenly blocked by Rafe’s body. 

“Please,” he began to beg. “I - I know I’m broken. And that I’ve done a lot of things wrong. But please, don't leave me.”

Your heart clenched for you to stay. Your mind, however, wasn’t sure it was the right timing to go back to him. He had to know this was his last chance. 

“Rafe,” you sighed. “You’re going to have to prove yourself to win one last chance.”

Rafe smiled and fell to his knees. He began to beg and to plead so much for you to stay that you actually could feel your heartbreaking. 

“Look,” he began, “I know I've done almost everything wrong in my life, okay? I know that. But I also know that you are the one fucking thing that I got right. And I can’t live without you.”

You sighed, knowing that no matter what Rafe did, he would just have to sweet talk you for you to stay by his side. 

“Stand up,” you said defeatedly. “This is your last chance. I know I always say that but this time I really mean it.”

He nodded. “I know.”

“Do you, Rafe?” you questioned. “All you have to prove to me is that you don’t want me to be the only right thing in your life.”

“Okay,” he said. “Yeah. Yeah, I can do that.”

“Good,” you said, sighing in relief. “Because I really love you and it would kill me to have to break up with you.”

He smiled at that, wiping his tears away. “I love you, too, Y/N.”

[fringerewatch]

Fringe Re-Watch #19: “Inner Child”

“Inner Child” (Season 1, Episode 15)

Written by:  Brad Caleb Kane & Julia Cho

Directed by:  Frederick E. O. Toye

Originally Aired: April 7th, 2009

Glyph Code: WALTER

“Inner Child” is a weird Fringe episode when you’re doing a re-watch. In 2009, it felt like a regular episode of the week after the show took a nearly 2 month hiatus after the bombshell episode that was “Ability”. This episode also feels like it could’ve aired at any point in time in season 1. It could’ve been episode 5, The only thing keeping it from something like that is Olivia’s sister and niece staying with her, but even that plot seems to come and go. And yet, “Inner Child” might be one of the most important episodes in terms of the overall story and mythos. This child, who felt like a one-off character for about 98% of the episode, suddenly peaked our interest with his very last scene and became an unanswered question until he became one of the most important characters in the final season. That makes ���Inner Child” in a bit of a limbo of feeling like an episode of the week, but knowing how important this is. And lost in both of that is how “Inner Child” is really an episode about letting the viewer get to know Olivia a little better. 

Last time, we talked about how Clarice Starling must’ve been a huge influence on the character of Olivia Dunham, so it’s no surprise the villain of this week has a bit of Bufallo Bill about him. There’s A LOT of Silence of the Lambs in Fringe’s first season and that might be a reason I got so attached to it. One of the great things about the character of Clarice and Jodi Foster’s performance, is that she’s able to show her vulnerability and humanity in the shadow of such a gruesome set of murders and interviewing a cannibal. For Olivia, she becomes so obsessed with a case, that at times it felt like we didn’t really know who Olivia was behind the agent. Looking at that, we can see her sister and niece coming to live with her was meant to show what Olivia is like at home, with family. We can debate whether or not this worked overall, but it does come into play in this particular episode. 

We’ve seen Olivia get along with her niece in several episodes before, and it actually all pays off here with the child. I’m just gonna call him Michael, even though we won’t get that information till much later. While connecting with Michael could’ve gone to Peter or Walter, it was a smart choice to give this to Olivia and have her be protective of Michael while also using his clues to try and solve an old case. This goes to show Olivia’s empathy and compassion and how her job is very much connecting with others.We did get this in the pilot, her whole motivation for kicking off the event of modern day Fringe was to save the man she was in love with, but with everything that’s been going on in season 1, we may have gotten away from this, so it was important to bring this back to the center. Especially when we’re about to get involved in some revelations to Olivia’s backstory.  Season 1 did go back and forth between plots a lot, but it is a bit jarring that there’s really not a mention of what went down in the episode previously. It goes with this episode feeling like it could’ve been placed anywhere.

Not to make this all about Olivia, Peter has a nice moment with Michael when trying to connect to him with a G.I. Joe and one of the standout moments of this episode is Walter’s dance to get the device on Michael. Both of these moments would later feed into the future of the show. A reference about Peter’s toys is a clue to the season finale shocker that Peter is from the other side, and Walter’s dance has a very creepy negative effect when we start to realize he knew how to manipulate children in order to do his experiments on them. 

I can’t say much about The Artist in this episode. A neat idea that’s been done quite a few times and I’ll admit in 2019 I would’ve expected them to go a bit deeper into the idea of someone killing women and remaking them the way he felt. Considering some of the gender politics that was a big part in the pilot, maybe the show was going to go deeper into this, but smartly realized the Olivia/Michael connection was more of the central emotional story. I do feel like The Artist could’ve been a bigger character had he been part of a different episode of the week, one not centered on Michael. 

And that brings us to the ending with Michael and September. For years fans debated the importance of this scene or what it meant. I will admit I was one of the people believing that Michael was actually September and that September was time travelling to the year when he was found. We weren’t actually too far off either! I’ll have more to say when we eventually get to that reveal in Season 5, but I’m glad this wasn’t a dropped storyline and it was brought back. 

While “Inner Child” felt like a filler episode for most of it’s time, it’s fascinating how much fans latched onto this episode believing it was something more than just a weird fringe event of the week. It provided key character moments for Olivia and introduced us to a character that would change everything 4 seasons later. I still find it a weird episode to watch because it’s importance is very much relying on knowing about Michael next appearance, but I also felt like this was a successful attempt at giving Olivia more layers. Watching this I expected us to get back to the David Robert Jones plot for the next episode but looks like we’re doing Unleashed! It’ll be interesting because I remember very little of this! So that’s what we’ll be covering next time as we inch closer and closer to the end of this first season.  

[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.

[caffeineivore]

Cheer up emo fic!

For @vchanny-og. This will tie in with one of the fics I wrote for the @ssrevminibang. M/K. Rated a strong PG13 for brief mentions of sexual situations and a hint of violence.

The flashbulbs and paparazzi harassment she took as a fair trade-- a necessary evil for her background as well as her chosen profession. Even the gossipy tabloid stories, or anonymous, hurtful online comments and speculation. Morgan, having seen many a child actor and teen starlet fall from grace, stays out of the spotlight for the most part. No drugs, no inappropriate videos or pictures, no information on her personal life for the avid army of vultures online to devour and speculate over. It isn’t too difficult avoiding the paparazzi, either, when one lived in a Beverly Hills mansion surrounded by electronic gates and a dense circle of tall hedges, or when one was a minor working under the very protective wing of one Raven Huntley, nee Fletcher, whom Morgan was fairly sure could scare an armed robber into submission with little else than a scathing comment and a well-placed glare. Her agent was a nice lady, the way a fire-breathing dragon might have a soft underbelly, but it was well hidden under a generous layer of diamond-hard New York City sharpness. 

The lack of privacy and the intrusive nature of the general public did not become an issue until she’d turned eighteen, and well on the international fashion circuit. The pretty hotels in Milan and Paris, picturesque though they certainly were, offered little protection against the outside world. The first time that she’d gotten manhandled by a particularly determined and sleazy paparazzo, she’d been eighteen. Raven had none-too-gently yanked the man off of her and driven the business end of her stiletto heel into the man’s instep before getting in his face and letting out a blistering diatribe lavishly peppered with F-bombs. The paparazzo had backed off, but Raven had ushered Morgan up to her room, barged in after her, and unplugged all electronic devices before making a sweep and checking for anything out of place. Whatever she might have thought of the incident, she did not say to Morgan at that particular moment, but she already had her phone to her ear before she’d even left the room with stern injunctions not to order room service, go online, or let anyone in that she didn’t know.

Whatever arrangements Raven must have made that night, Morgan had woken up three days later to a knock on the door. One glance through the peephole revealed her agent, and a tall stranger wearing a plain black suit. 

Raven let herself in when she opened the door, but the man stood there for a moment, looking down the hall in what Morgan deemed to be an assessing sort of way before following Raven in and shutting the door behind him, taking the time to secure the chain latch as well as the lock. He was almost a head taller than Morgan’s willowy five-foot-nine, with wide shoulders and big hands, but what drew Morgan’s attention right away was his face, all watchful gray eyes and an impassive mouth and strong features, quite a departure from the fresh-faced, pretty male models she worked with on a regular basis. He had a square jaw and blond hair so pale it was close to silver, and a hint of an old break in an otherwise patrician nose saved him from being almost too handsome. 

“Morgan, this is Kane Wallace. Kane, this is Morgan Austen. I’ve known him since we were kids, before our paths veered in completely different directions. He works for a security firm out of Manhattan these days, but I figure this would be a nice change of scene for him, and there’s no one I’d trust more. You need a security detail, and someone who’d not only be able to make sure no one gets to you out in public, but won’t sell you out to the top buyer, if you get my drift. Kane’s mom and my dad were in law school together, back in the day, and we pretty much grew up in the same circles. He went to West Point and I went to NYU, and we lost touch for a while, but… here we are, and here we go.” 

“It’s nice to meet you, Miss Austen.”

He has a deep, measured voice, and wherever he might have been between West Point and a boutique Parisian hotel, he’d lost the New Yorker accent that still rang, sharp as a chime, in Raven’s voice. Morgan smiles, and offers her hand, and his fingers are rough and warm against hers. 

“You can just call me Morgan. If we’re to work together, we should be on easy terms. May I call you Kane, or do you prefer Mr. Wallace?”

“Kane is fine, Miss Austen.”

Morgan’s quite sure that he caught the eye roll she’d given Raven at that, but Kane doesn’t say anything, and if she’d have known that fateful meeting would ultimately change the whole course of her life, perhaps she would have been more nervous, or excited. But at the age of eighteen, the supermodel daughter of a Hollywood A-Lister, meeting a man who’d become her security detail was nothing more or less than just a matter of course, a fact of life. So she’d mustered up her cheekiest grin, tilted her head to the side, and beamed up at him with all the power of a megawatt heat lamp. “Well, hopefully this is the beginning of a long and beautiful friendship, Beefcake. It’s nice to meet you, too.”

He didn’t so much as crack a smile in response.

**

“Awww. I just got a text from Zack. Him and Noah just landed at Heathrow.”

“That’s good. I’m glad they made it safely to their destination.” 

“Don’t you think it’s romantic, Beefcake? This grand gesture he’s doing, this love at first sight thing. I really hope it pans out for our boy.”

“I’m sure he’s happy to have you in his corner, Miss Austen.”

It’s been five years, two months and ten days, and perhaps three hours since Morgan had first met Kane Wallace, and if that made her a bit like the one girl in Love Actually, she’s resigned to the fact. Kane does know that she exists, of course. But the chances of anything, even a hot makeout session that amounts to nothing, ultimately, are probably even slimmer. She’s turning twenty-four in six days, and he still calls her Miss Austen at least fifty percent of the time, and it would probably be infuriating if that buttoned-up propriety wasn’t such an intrinsic part of his disposition that it’d be a bit hard to it wouldn’t be fair to take it personally. She can’t help but needle him a bit, though. Certainly no one else would have the nerve to call him something so ridiculous as Beefcake to his face. 

They have fallen into a comfortable routine at this point-- he’s never far, whether she’s home or out, in LA or Milan or some picturesque tropical beach for a photoshoot. She has a sometimes-brutal schedule, going between sessions with the personal trainer and photoshoots and fittings and interviews, making the necessary appearances at the necessary well-publicised premieres and galas. He’s always in the background, as unobtrusive as a broad-shouldered, six-foot-three man wearing a dark suit and an earpiece could possibly be, and if he’s ever felt that the long days and the jet lag wore on him in any way, he certainly never says so. The one time, perhaps two years ago, that Morgan had apologized about a particularly long and strenuous photoshoot, he’d simply said that military training had prepared him for a lot worse, and then managed to somehow find her a Döner kebab stand still open despite the late hour. It wasn’t quite LA taco truck fare, but at midnight, still fighting jet lag and after a day of Luna bars and low-cal Vitamin Water in between grueling costume and makeup changes, it had been the best thing she’d ever tasted. 

And if she’s come to depend on him in far more than just as hired muscle to get rid of creepy paparazzi or overly-enthusiastic fans, or if she finds herself thinking about him in ways that aren’t at all professional, that’s no one’s business or problem but her own. 

She smiles up at him, wondering if he knows-- notices-- that it’s not quite the same smile that she always gives the cameras and the reporters and the fans, not even the same smile that she reserves for friends like Zack or Noah. “At least it will be an easy day for us today. Just one appointment. Ace Kato has a waiting list the length of my leg of models who want in on his photoshoots. I’m honestly shocked that he picked me out of the pile.”

He glances down, just for the space of a second, at her comment, from the bottom hem of her breezy yellow skirt to the no-nonsense red pedicure on her toes, but when he looks up again, he’s not smiling. “I’ll be right outside the studio door if you need me.”

**

The ‘easy day’ ends in disaster in very short order, after Kato corners her in the dressing room between costume changes and puts his hands on her naked back, all while smarmily whispering against her neck that he could take her career to new, astronomical heights, if she’d meet him halfway. The insinuation is obvious, and the slap Morgan delivers to his face is reflexive and shocks her as much as him. A moment later, Kane is in the room-- Morgan doesn’t even have time to wonder how, precisely, he made it through the electronically-locked door-- and pulling the photographer off of her the way a wolf might drag off a deer by its neck. It’s a blur after that, sort of-- somehow, she’s bundled up into the back of her driver’s car, and Raven, not a cuddler by any stretch of the imagination, is holding onto her the way a protective mother might soothe an injured baby chick, smoothing down her hair with one manicured hand even as she barked into her phone, clearly on the line with the agency’s in-house counsel. 

“It’ll be a settlement, probably. No one wants to drag this through a courtroom shit show. But as of this minute, no one in any of our offices will work with him ever again. It’s doubtful that he’ll press charges, even if Kane did break his jaw while pulling him off of you. I’m cancelling your appointments for the rest of the week.”

Morgan holds it together all the way home, waves off her assistant and the housekeeper and even her mother, all of whom have heard some heavily edited but possibly exaggerated version of what had gone down, and goes for a bubble bath complete with candles and wine, and it’s only after she’s bundled up in her robe alone in her room, skin pruney from the too-hot water and hair a wet and tangled mess over pillowcases meant for dry-cleaning only that it hits her. And with his usual quietly uncanny timing, Kane knocks on the door, and even as she opens it, she smells the distinct scent of fresh Animal-style In-n-Out fries-- her favourite comfort food as a child-- and that’s when the tears come. 

Without any question, the housekeeper will have something awful to say the next morning about greasy fries on the furniture, but neither of them are worried about that at the moment, and though it takes perhaps a minute or two, Kane eventually steps forward instead of back, and certainly she’s looking her worst just then-- wet and bedraggled, without a speck of makeup, wearing nothing but a fuzzy pink bathrobe. She’s also undoubtedly getting tears and snot on his shirt, but for a man of few words who rarely even smiles, his arms are strong and gentle just as she’d always imagined, and the rumble of his breathing and heartbeat, steady and low beneath her cheek, is what finally calms her down. Her hands are clenched around handfuls of his shirt and he sits her down on the bed, brings her the now-cold fries, and makes her eat them, not stepping back until she manages a ghost of a smile. 

“Raven said you broke his jaw.” Her voice is slightly scratchy around a mouthful of messy sauce and potato. An ominous glint enters Kane’s eye, and he raises his chin.

“Might have. Would’ve done worse, too, if I had to.”

“I know.” He doesn’t speak much on his background, though he’d mentioned before that he had decided against making a career out of the military due to a dislike of politics and killing people on the orders of people with selfish motives. Nonetheless, if nothing else, she knows that Raven would not have appointed him to this role were he not anything less than completely capable, and in this case, capable might as well have meant deadly. Kane still walks like a soldier, and scans a room and its occupants the way an officer might, and in those last few moments, the arms that had held her had been hard and solid as steel. “This is so hard.”

His jaw clenches, and he looks down at the spotless plush carpet underneath their feet. “You’re entitled to whatever measures you must take to recover and heal. I’m sorry I wasn’t there, earlier.”

He couldn’t have been there any earlier unless he’d had superpowers and teleported into the room. As it stands, Morgan’s still fairly sure he’d broken down the door, but she wasn’t even referring to that, at least not completely. She laughs, but it’s a hollow, almost desperate sound. “Kato’s a creep who will get his ass sued and blackballed, but he’s just one of many creeps in the world. I’m not going to let a creep ruin anything more than one day out of my life. But it’s so hard to be around you and act normal and not like I’ve been trying to fall out of love with you for the last few years, because I can act normal around you, unlike everyone else, and you don’t care if I’m looking pretty or acting charming or if I’m a mess, and you’re the only one who always knows what I need. And I have no business even having this conversation with you. It’s not fair, and I’d be no better than Kato, using his position to coerce something out of another person.”

His breath escapes in a stutter, and Morgan doesn’t have it in her, just at that moment, to look up into his face, see consternation in those usually-unflappable features, or hear any hasty apologies. This, too, shall pass. She is Morgan Grace Austen, born and bred to handle anything life threw her way with a perfect smile on her face, and she’s already cried once today in his presence. It takes every bit of practiced poise she can muster, but she manages to square her shoulders, turn away with her head held high. “I’d like to be alone, now. Please. I will be quite safe.”

He doesn’t make a sound, exiting the room and shutting the door behind him, but the solitude of her space without him in it weighs in the air like the gloom before a cold rain.

**

One can almost always find the strength to carry on, and moreover, this day had been inevitable since the day they’d first met, all those years ago. Morgan finds herself able, after a sleepless night and a day of avoidance, to act almost normal again around him. She’s cordial, and so is he, and both of them cautiously never mention the incident, and if he notices that she is careful not to needle him or call him Beefcake or touch him in any way, he doesn’t remark upon it. But she feels the weight of his eyes on her, always watchful and protective but hotter, heavier somehow at odd moments. She throws herself into work and gets a contract as the spokesmodel for an up-and-coming cruelty-free cosmetics brand, and shoots a series of PSAs against bullying in schools and online. Her twenty-fourth birthday comes and goes without much fanfare, though she throws the expected no-expenses-spared party for the occasion, inviting along a few dozen of the most tolerable and non-problematic of the glitterati for an evening of champagne and fancy finger foods in an exclusive club. Heavy security keep out enterprising paparazzi, but Morgan does select and sell one carefully-taken group selfie to People Magazine and arrange to donate the proceeds to a charity benefiting victims of sexual assault. 

True to Raven’s predictions, Ace Kato settles out of court, and though no details of the case are leaked, his demand and popularity as a fashion and celebrity photographer seem to vanish almost overnight. Raven makes a few scathing comments that he would soon be leaving town in disgrace and perhaps end up taking baby pictures in a Sears somewhere. 

The new year comes and brings with it the usual flurry of activity in Hollywood as Awards season kicks off and the deep, intellectual films of the winter months-- a far cry from the CGI-and-explosions-laden summer blockbusters-- have their premieres. 

Kane takes a week around Christmas as personal time, and travels off to some unknown destination, returning the day after New Year’s preoccupied and morose, though still impeccably polite and considerate and thorough. Morgan lets it go for all of two days before she corners him, and plainly asks him what is wrong.

He hedges, and looks down at his phone, and Morgan knows that she’s pouting by that point and doesn’t care. “You know everything there is to know about me, Beefcake. Down to how much Chipotle I scarf down every time Shark Week rolls around and how much I secretly hate Pilates to the fact that I still can’t watch The Lion King without crying. You can tell me what’s wrong with you for a change. Give me something to do to help.” He’s wearing a cotton t-shirt rather than the usual perfectly pressed button-down underneath a suit jacket, and of their own volition, her fingers curl into the soft cloth, wrinkling it. “Let me in. Please.”

He wraps his hands around her slim wrists, wide palms warm and calloused against her skin, but doesn’t pull her hands off of him, and acquiesces.

**

C’est La Vie is the type of arthouse film with a limited release, produced by some bigshot actor and featuring the usual dichotomy of virtual unknowns in leading roles and cinematography dreamy and lush as a French Impressionist painting. Morgan does not generally attend these premieres-- they inevitably run late, and she unfailingly gets cornered by either pretentious auteurs looking for a Muse du jour or well-meaning but nosy pillars of the industry from her mother’s generation, at least as inquisitive about her personal life as the most determined of the paparazzi, and more likely to be closer to the mark with it. But this evening is, as she admits to herself, a labour of love.

The gown that she has on is golden silk, Yves Ste. Laurent couture, and she’s got a good ten carats of yellow diamonds dangling on her neck and ears. But the question that Morgan gets asked the most, down the stroll of this red carpet, is who is the frail old lady there with her, hooked up on oxygen and being pushed in a wheelchair? 

“She’s a friend of a friend, and she’s never been to Hollywood before.” She gives the answer with a warm smile for the cameras, and though she’s certainly wearing impractical shoes for the occasion and her entourage is not far off, she pushes the wheelchair the whole way herself, bending down periodically to make sure that the occupant-- Kane’s grandmother, Doris, is comfortable. 

There’d been a lot of strings to pull, important people in the industry to sweet-talk, but ultimately, Morgan had prevailed in her goal. They’re seated quite close to the front, and on Doris’ other side is a legend, recognizable even though his black tie differs quite a bit from the rugged garments he’d worn in some of his most famous roles.

“My, my, aren’t you Mister Harrison Ford?” Doris whispers, the blush on her papery cheeks as charming as a schoolgirl’s. “You were my favourite, when I was younger. That Han Solo was such a dashing rapscallion.”

“Why, yes I am.” Harrison winks over Doris’ head at Morgan; this seating arrangement had been cleared with his people well in advance of this evening, and comes as no surprise. “Pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”

The movie premiere is surprisingly enjoyable, and by the end of the evening, Doris has opened up to the actor and the two are chatting away like old friends. They don’t attend any after-parties, but Morgan pours Doris a half-glass of Dom Perignon and toasts her happiness, and at a perfectly decent hour, takes Doris back home. The private plane will take Doris, in the end stages of heart failure, back to Upstate New York in the morning, to begin hospice care. 

The limo ride back is mostly quiet, and for a moment, Morgan thinks that Doris might have fallen asleep, but Kane’s grandmother coughs, then looks at her with eyes that might have gone rheumy and soft with age but are the same shade of gray as her grandson’s. “You’re a nice young lady, Miss Austen. I can see why he loves you so.”

Morgan can smile and laugh on command, but she can’t control the quick gasp, the heat creeping up her neck and face. “He’s become… a friend. We’ve known each other for six years now. But surely you’re mistaken.”

“I’m not worried about hospice care, much as Kane might fret over it. It will be peaceful, you see. I’m hoping to live long enough to watch the leaves change colour-- sorry, dear, but California autumns have nothing on the East Coast, but if that isn’t meant to be, I’ll be seeing Kane’s grandfather again soon. He looks just like my husband did when he was young, too, though Calvin’s eyes were green. He’s a good boy.” Doris reaches across the aisle of the limo, pats the back of Morgan’s hand with her quavery fingertips. “I’m glad that he won’t be alone. He’s always been such an independent boy, but it doesn’t do for one to have no one to share their hearts and lives with.”

**

Doris leaves the next day, and Kane goes with her, and though Morgan throws herself into work for the next four days, his absence feels like a void in the center of her world. She wraps up some ad-work for the cosmetic brand, makes a brief appearance on one of the late shows. Needless to say, in the space of a five-minute interview, she gets questioned about her unusual guest to the movie premiere, but she keeps it simple, stating that it’s a friend of a friend, shamelessly invoking Harrison Ford and stating to the host, charmingly, that certainly many women would love to meet Han Solo and Indiana Jones himself before they passed, and she couldn’t blame her friend one bit. Of course, as is expected, the host segues into asking her about her own love life, and Morgan simply smiles. 

“Of course I love somebody. I love a lot of people. For a lifestyle and a career that could be built out of artifice, I feel like I am blessed to know some of the best people, as friends, or colleagues, or associates. I am the luckiest girl in the world, and it has absolutely everything to do with the people I love, and not my work or my connections.” Somehow, she knows that Kane will watch this segment, though he is hundreds of miles away, and the smile she aims for the camera is the one she generally reserves for him, alone. 

She arrives home from that studio appearance the same day as Kane, though he flies commercial and lands a good two hours after her. She’s slightly jet-lagged, and relaxing in her wing of the house in her pajamas when he comes in, looking far too good for someone who’s just left a loved one to their final rest and flown from coast to coast. Morgan clasps her hands together so they don’t reach for him, but just for a moment, after he greets her-- Morgan, for once, and not Miss Austen-- his eyes soften almost imperceptibly, and that alone gives her the courage to clear the air.

“I owe you an apology, I think.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Why would you say that?” 

“Because… I promised myself, long ago, before I met you, that I would never take advantage of anyone who worked for me in any capacity. That I wouldn’t overstep my bounds, either in thought or action, because so many people do, and get away with it, and that’s just not fair.” She has to be honest with him-- he deserves no less than the complete truth, and if her smile is shaky at the corners, she at least still manages to look him in the eye. “I can’t not love you. It’s not possible. But I won’t do anything out of line. You have my word, and I’m a woman of my word.”

“I know.” He steps closer, almost too close. He smells fresh, not at all like someone who had just been sitting in a tin can breathing recycled air for hours. “I’m generally a man of my word, too. But I think I’m about to break it.”

Before she can asks him what he means, he reaches for her, and takes her hands in his. Her hands are slim and dainty, currently sporting a shimmery pink manicure and a Pandora bracelet. His are tanned and wide, with rough palms and a utilitarian black watch, and his fingers are warm wrapped around hers. “I promised myself, when I took on this job, that I’d never touch you. That I would never even think to put my hands on you, or behave in any way that could be construed as unprofessional.” He tugs her in, then lets go of her left hand to cup her cheek, and she’s almost close enough to count his eyelashes one by one, and her breath catches somewhere between her throat and her lips. “I’m about to break that promise. And, speaking of, I quit.”

Before she can say anything in response, his mouth is on hers, and he doesn’t kiss her in the gentle, easygoing way of a casual but enjoyable date. He hauls her in, lifting her slightly off her feet as his lips all but devour hers, as though she’s his air and water, one hand cupping her nape as the other anchors at the base of her spine. She feels herself moan, but the sound of it is blushingly wanton in the quiet of the room even as she sinks her fingers into his shockingly soft hair. 

It could have stopped there, maybe, if this hasn’t been building for so long, so intensely. But neither of them seem capable of letting the other person go. She goes for his shirt buttons first, ripping one off in awkward frustration as her nails get in the way, but then he laughs and lifts her up and carries her into her room, kicking the door shut behind them between more kisses-- on her lips, tracing a path from her jaw and down the length of her neck. Her own bed feels new somehow when he joins her on it, but he doesn’t touch her until she reaches up and kisses him again. She knows that he knows that she’s never slept with anyone before, and yet, after sharing everything else in the last six years, it doesn’t even feel awkward when he slides the last few pieces of clothing off her shoulders and legs. Morgan’s not self-conscious as a rule-- certainly, in the name of fashion, she’s been photographed wearing some fairly risque pieces before, often in the company of strangers, but she finds herself looking up into his face timidly as his eyes rake over the length of her, from the blonde hair fanned out over her pillows to the toes curling into the sheets. 

“God. You’re the most fucking beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life.” His words are blunt and a bit abrupt, but it coaxes a smile out of her, and then his mouth and hands are wandering over her bare skin, and there’s no time to overthink it any more. 

Much later, as night falls over Los Angeles, Morgan cuddles into his side, feeling slightly sleepy and warm and very, very loved. “You quit, hmm, Beefcake?” It should feel awkward to tease him when she might have possibly squealed his name at an inopportune moment in the recent past, but then again, she’s never felt more safe or comfortable than when they’re together, so maybe things hadn’t changed so much, after all. “I guess you must, for the sake of both our reputations.”

“I quit working for you. I’ll never quit protecting you, whether or not I get paid to do so. I can do remote work on security systems or whatever. That’s all just details to figure out.” He tugs her close and runs his fingers down the length of her bare back, and she leans into the touch like a cat. “Go to sleep. We can figure this out in the morning.”

“Mmm. You’re warm. You don’t snore or talk in your sleep, do you?”

“If I do, too bad. You’re stuck with me.” He presses a soft kiss to her temple and tugs the covers up over them. “I love you, Morgan Austen. I figure now’s the time to finally say it aloud.”

She feels her mouth curve into a smile against the skin of his shoulder. “I love you too, Beefcake. And now’s the perfect time.”

He doesn’t snore or talk in his sleep, but he doesn’t let go of her all night, and he’s still holding her close when she wakes up in the morning. Morgan opens one eye, texts her assistant to cancel her hair appointment, and curls back up into his arms. Today, she’s sleeping in.

[viceprints]

Hello, Gorgeous.

Summary: Minho and Solji are coupled up on We Got Married. Minho thinks We Got Married is ridiculous, but maybe Solji can change his mindset. AKA, the first time Solji and Minho meet.

A/N: Disclaimer that the only parts of WGM that I’ve ever watched are of Joy & Sungjae. I’m going to be heavily basing Minho & Solji’s time on WGM off those clips I’ve seen. 

◇─◇──◇────◇────◇────◇────◇────◇─────◇──◇─◇

2014

Minho was always told by his mother that when he meets the one, he’ll know it’s her. 

As beautiful as that sounded, Minho was starting to think it was a load of crap, and now that he was a full-fledged idol, he had a feeling that his one and only was never going to find him. Whoever he was destined to be with would have to find someone else. He was occupied being the fake boyfriend of thousands of fans and busting his ass every day just to stay relevant in his line of work.

Like a few weeks ago when his company suggested that he go on We Got Married as a promotion to show his ‘soft and romantic’ side. Originally, Minho wasn’t down to pretend to be married to someone. The whole concept of the show seemed a little silly to him, but nonetheless, he agreed knowing it would bring a good image to Vice and HBH.

The Vice boys exploded with screams and claps when Minho was handed the first mission card of the season. “Open it! Open it now!” Kane demanded, shaking his elder friend’s shoulders. Minho couldn’t help but let out a chuckle as he opened the box. Inside was a phone and a mission statement. The first mission was to text his new ‘wife’.

“OOOOH!” The Vice members teased once they finished reading the card. “Should we give you two some uh, privacy?” Sungho joked. Woodam slapped Sungho’s arm, but he couldn’t hide his own grin. “What should I say?” Minho asked his friends, wanting their input before he sent anything.

“Just start flirting!” Ji said like it was obvious. “Say something sweet!”

Minho shrugged and typed in “Hello, gorgeous” before pressing send. The simple action caused a big reaction from his groupmates, all who were latching onto each other, impatiently waiting for Minho’s wife to answer.

A text message came back, and Minho chuckled at the response.

“How do you know I’m gorgeous? You don’t know me, do you?” He read out loud. The boy group laughed at the text. “She’s not letting you get off easy, I like it.” Geonwu clapped his hands in amusement.

“You’re my wife. You’ll be gorgeous to me no matter what.” Minho typed out, reading each word as his thumbs flew across the screen.

“Have you done this before?” Seokyu asked. “You seem very experienced.”

Minho shook his head. The introduction flirting bounced back and forth before the production team gave Minho his second task: bringing a gift to his new wife for tomorrow’s meeting. 

Minho settled for flowers. He didn’t really want to go out of his way, but he also didn’t want to show up empty-handed, looking like a douche bag. They agreed to meet at a local park in front of the central fountain. 

Minho got there first and was left to pace in circles around the fountain. He didn’t think he’d be nervous for something like this, yet here he was. He had avoided all tabloids, wanting whoever it was to be a surprise.

He was just about to text his ‘wife’ to see her whereabouts, but he didn’t have to. When he circled back around to the front of the fountain, he bumped into none other than Heo Solji.

He grunted after colliding with her, the white roses in his hand crumpled a little on impact.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry.” Minho apologized, his cheeks flushing red.  “No, no, I’m okay! Are you okay?” Solji asked, straightening herself out. Minho nodded before his eyes landed on what she had in her hands. She brought him white roses too. 

“I’m Minho.” Minho introduced himself. “I know. I’m Solji.” “I know.” Minho couldn’t help but grin. “Were you pacing too?”  Solji looked a little embarrassed. “I was nervous and couldn’t stay still.” She explained. “Well, don’t be nervous. Here, these are for you.” Minho handed her the white roses. In exchange, Solji handed over her own collection of flowers. “I heard that white roses symbolize marriage and new beginnings,” Minho explained.  “I heard something very similar.” Solji chuckled. 

Before the two could talk any further, they were interrupted by another mission card. “Now it’s time for the couple to have their first date! Select a location and spend some time together.” Solji read from the card with Minho looking over her shoulder. “Where’d you like to go?” Solji asked. Minho shrugged. “It’s up to you. A happy wife makes a happy life.” He teased. Solji giggled and thought for a moment, tapping the mission card against her chin. “You know where I’ve never been?” Solji posed. “A dog cafe.”

[electricbluebutterflies]

Cuddling; reluctantly, out of necessity and totally romantic for Kabby

Three-part fluff thing because I can and because I feel like this fandom has a distinct lack of bed-sharing fic. Usual canon-divergent ‘verse, PG-ish, and also on ao3.

in these arms

1. reluctantly.

If nothing else, Abby Griffin is stubborn. That word will probably go on her tombstone, if they decide those are a thing again now - that’s another little logistical detail she should probably think about, one more addition to the list of unexpected questions that accidentally getting put in charge of reestablishing a civilization has brought up. She sees things and latches onto them, and nothing in this world is enough to stop her.

So it figures that, as her body recovers from traumatic injury, she would end up stuck with the only person she’s ever met who’s just as terrible as she is.

Things with Kane are… complicated, at best. She’s starting to see consistent flickers of human decency in the man, which is new and weird and needs to stop because he is so much easier to deal with when he’s in asshole mode, but that is not the worst of it. Oh no. By virtue of his own recent injury, aka how the hell does he think walking around that much on that wound is a good life choice, he’s appointed himself her official protector until both of them heal up.

Which means, for the next week - she figures, gods, it could be longer depending on what goes on around each other - she has to play nice on a scale that ten years of catfights during council meetings could never have prepared her for. At least that drama had referees. This will not.

She trusts him, she reminds herself as she accepts that like it or not she’s going to be taking up nonexistent space in his room for a couple days. It’s a more central location, not that either of them needs to be in the center of anything right now, and was easier during the return than him trying and failing to remember where she’s holed up lately. They can do roommates just fine in the context that it’s a very temporary situation, and she knows no harm will come to her from this. Never again, not after-

“Are you really going to sleep on that chair again?” Abby growls. It is day three of their arrangement, and she’s not in constant pain anymore so she supposes she’s getting better enough to focus on other concerns. Like her idiot of a co-leader and the fact that he’s going to be in more pain if he keeps on as he has.

“Tried to borrow a cot, but… that was barely thought through to begin with,” he replies.

She weighs her options. On the one hand, watching him suffer is still just a little bit cathartic and watching him lie about his feelings is entertaining. On the other, he did his atonement when a building collapsed on him and again when he walked by her side for eight hours when he should’ve been at a very different point in the procession, and-

“Get over here. There’s space. I don’t bite unless I have to.”

It is, perhaps, an unusually sideways step in their relationship. Not to mention the first time she’s even considered sharing a mattress with another human being since her first tragedy set everything into motion. But there is space for two human bodies to lie beside each other without touching, and she’s pleasantly surprised as he swallows his pride enough to take her offer.

“Abby, I…”

“Don’t. I’m not thrilled either. But this is easier, for both of us, than you dealing with sore everything on top of…”

“Thank you.”

She laughs. “You’re the one who decided I should spend my recovery in your bed. I don’t remember that entailing kicking you out of it.”

Sometimes, she wonders if they could’ve been friends back before they became the people they are now. Sometimes, she wonders if they’re on the path to becoming so much more.

2. out of necessity.

The diplomatic mission, which has turned into the vacation from hell in Abby’s opinion, goes relatively well until they get stuck in a blizzard in the absolute middle of nowhere.

Okay, fine, like 99% of Earth is the middle of nowhere as far as she’s seen, but usually it is not snowing like crazy and usually she is somewhere with a questionable-but-existent heating system. Not out here, in the wild north of wherever, and dramatically unprepared for this sort of thing.

At least she’s not alone on the unprepared front. Marcus is equally inept at dealing with changing weather, though she supposes his jacket offers at least some protection, and he seems to be feeling it more than she is. She’s curled up in a ball in their tent; he paces, which she’s pretty sure won’t help anything, and she’s surprised he hasn’t just gone out in the storm and let the wildness have its way with him.

It’d be a typically stupid way to die, at least. The past couple months, he’s established a frightening lack of self-preservation skills, and she’s realized lately that that bothers her. Whatever role they play, in the undefined chaos of their world, it’s a lot easier to do it with him by her side.

“We should combine resources,” she says, first coherent words in hours as a perfect idea forms.

“Hmm?”

“We each have a blanket pile. We could combine the blanket pile and…”

“I can’t invade your space like that.”

“You are not invading,” she mutters. “I’m asking you. Sharing body heat is a time-honored way of dealing with apocalyptic weather conditions, and you run warm anyways.”

The fact that she remembers that detail from the week they try not to talk about seems to be enough to convince him, and he walks over and grabs his own pile of blankets and drapes them over her. Yes, she thinks, this would be enough warmth even without another human being sharing it with her. But it’s rude to even think such things, and she shifts her body just enough to grant him space.

He takes it, cautiously, making sure his limbs are safely beneath the wool and furs before he does something unexpected and wraps his arms around her.

“Body heat, you said. Is this okay?”

He is warm, and he smells familiar, and she turns so her head rests on his shoulder. “It’s perfect. If it’s okay with you.”

“Storm of the century out there, Abby. Whether anything’s okay doesn’t matter if it keeps us alive, and I am not letting you get frostbite.”

“I’m not the one who wanted to go for a walk in it.”

“Yes, and you talked me out of it before I did.”

“What the hell would you do without me…”

She doesn’t mean it as a question, but she feels more than hears his response. “I have no idea…”

3. totally romantic.

She doesn’t want to leave this space. Maybe she won’t, she thinks. Let all the chaos fall around them for a day; she has better things on her mind.

Abby wouldn’t describe herself as a particularly affectionate person, but she is still acclimating to her relationship. They’ve been together a couple months now and things moved quickly once that line was crossed, but it’s still surreal that Marcus is her closest friend, let alone her lover. Earth has changed everyone, she knows that, but none more so than him. With weight off his shoulders, he has been able to become a person. She dares not assume her love had anything to do with that, and yet-

“Good morning,” he murmurs, kissing her forehead. This, too, is new. Before they happened - she cannot think of a better word for that night when the walls broke down - she would not have described him as sweet. After, well... after, she is learning how infinite he is, and she enjoys this.

“Stay,” she breathes, tightening her own embrace. “We don’t have to... I want you to...”

“For a little while, darling. Is that enough?”

“Whatever you can give me.”

She kisses him, and she is so content with all of this. The familiarity of their entwinement as she rolls their bodies without immediate intent, the warmth in his eyes as she looks down at him, the beauty in what they have together. Unexpected but perfect.

“Love you,” he murmurs. He speaks affection so casually and frequently, and she’s still getting used to that - perhaps more so than any of his other adaptations - but it’s such a lovely warm feeling.

“Less talking, more kissing.”

He complies.

[panticwritten]

Warm-Up #3

My One True Guardian

This one was written using this prompt from @dialouge-prompts. It takes place in the Sequence of Regrettable Happenings universe, about five years before the events of the part of the daydream I’m focusing on writing. This is one of my favorite warm-ups I’ve ever done, and it got me thinking a lot more about the way I view Kane within the bounds of this universe.

This is the last one I’m gonna post for tonight, but I think I might start posting my warm-ups regularly if these are things people are interested in seeing!

Word count: 1912

@yuyi-yuyani @breakeven2007 @jade-island-lives @thespooniewrites it’s in a different universe, but it’s still Kane acting like a dad.

I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting here.

On the edge of a bed somewhere in the Baudelaire home, I stare at a vanity mirror on the other side of the room. An unrecognizable face gazes back at me with glazed eyes. The charred left side of the face, spreading past what the glass can see, turns my stomach.

Still, I stare.

It throbs. Pulsing from my scalp, to my neck, my back, the tips of my fingers, down my thighs, steady as a heartbeat. I don’t dare move, even as I meet the blank eyes of the stranger in the mirror.

After a while, someone knocks on the door, but I ignore them. It’s likely Beatrice with dinner. I’m far from hungry. Words that I don’t hear drift through the cracks and they’re gone.

I sigh and carefully lay back on the bed. I can’t hold back the garbled cries I desperately try to suppress as the fabric of the quilt presses against the blisters on my back.

Something else, beyond the pain, hits me and I screw my eyes shut. The negative of the house, the flames reaching to me, seems to burn my eyelids from the mere memory. It starts to fade again, and I try to relax. I’ve been hiding from everything since I got back into the city. I can’t focus on it now.

I hear shouting downstairs and my eyes snap open.

I struggle, for a moment, to force the words to make sense. It happens eventually.

“Your people didn’t do anything for them either!” a familiar voice accuses.

I sit up and immediately regret my haste as my heartbeat kickstarts. At the sound of his voice, I’m more alert than I’ve been in days. The voices, now quieter, move under my feet.

I stand, looking down at the floorboards. He knows I’m here, then? He knows I’m alive? The idea is annoying, and just that thought is wakes me up a little more. It’s more than I’ve felt in three days.

I look back to the mirror, now with critical eyes.

I grab a full glass of water from my bedside stand, cringing at the touch to my burned hands, and take a drink. The water hits my smoke-burned throat like acid, but I force it down as I cross to the vanity. I take a seat in front of it and dip a washcloth into the water.

It doesn’t do much for my dead eyes, the bags under them, or the twenty pounds I’ve lost in the past week and a half, but at least the soot’s gone. Now the burns seem brighter. I try to press the cloth against them, too, but my hands shake too much. I would just make it worse.

I drop the rag, finally giving in the to slicing nerves on fingers.

He won’t be happy—they’re getting swollen, much darker than they were before. They’re infected. I touch the edges of the wounds, guilt cutting just as deep as the pain. This is my fault.

I try to put it out of my mind. I brace myself and lift a brush to gently pull it through my tangled hair. Much of it is gone, ending in singed mats, even more pathetic after two days of hiding in this room.

Footsteps start up the stairs, and the argument continues.

“I don’t want you anywhere near our children,” Bertrand hisses. The familiar voice responds with a dry laugh.

“Neither do I. I’m just here for mine.”

I stop, half out of my chair, at that. I stare at the door. The steps stop just outside of the door. Easing myself upright, I cross to it.

“They won’t answer. I’ve been trying all day.” Beatrice is quiet. Her words stand in the air for a moment.

I listen to them, two sets of breathing, but I know there are three people out there. I rest my hand on the doorknob, gritting my teeth against the contact, and brace myself. I swallow down the last of my listlessness and open the door.

Kane stands on the other side, one hand poised to knock on the door. The Baudelaires mutter in surprise, but Kane simply watches me warily.

I turn and walk back into my room, my bare feet silent on the floorboards. The door closes, and I don’t look back. I don’t want to hear his lecture, not today.

“Has anyone looked at those yet?”

I shake my head, moving to cross my arms but deciding against it when my burns scream at me. I don’t hear him move, but suddenly his hand is on my right, burnless, shoulder. I don’t fight when he leads me back to the bed.

He surveys me for a moment.

“Christ,” he mutters, turning to the vanity. I see his brow furrow in the mirror. “Were you going to let yourself die?”

I shrug his hand away and avert my eyes. He doesn’t comment, just sets a bag on the desk. I don’t watch him rummage through it, instead studying the curtain over the window.

He sighs and I flick a brief glance at him.

“This is going to hurt,” he says, turning back with a tray of tools. Something about his tone sounds wrong. Kane isn’t supposed to be so nice. I frown and look away again.

He starts with my right hand, and I bite back a cry. It’s searing, blinding white behind my eyes, but I keep my eyes locked on the unraveling fabric in the middle of the red curtains.

Slowly, excruciatingly, he debrides the palm of my hand. He leaves bandages and dull throbbing in his wake, but I know that this is just the beginning of the pain. It will take a while for these burns to heal. I should be in a hospital, but I can’t risk that.

When he finishes with my hand, I’m breathing hard, my brow covered in sweat. He then takes the time to inspect the minor burns snaking up my right arm. I expect him to move on, and I brace myself for the slicing pain that doesn’t come.

I finally look at him to see his unimpressed gaze. He leans back in the chair from the vanity. Waiting. I look away after a mere instant, but he latches onto my acknowledgement.

“When did you last eat?”

I shrug.

“Sleep?”

I shrug again.

“Shower?”

I look at him and direct every ounce of the anger I’ve felt in the past two weeks at him. Who is he to treat me like a misbehaving child? If he’s here, that means he knows exactly how bad things have been and he’s just showing up now.

He isn’t impressed.

“You need to take care of yourself.”

I don’t answer, so he scoots closer and starts on my left hand. This one’s worse. I grit my teeth and return my gaze to the covered window, but I don’t count on him continuing his ‘words of wisdom.’

“You’re lucky that you are who you are,” he says. “You’ll get a scar, probably, but that’s about it.”

A particularly sharp twinge of pain cuts the leash I have on my tongue.

“You think I’m worried about getting a scar?” I say, my voice flatter than I would have expected. My throat burns and I swallow to ease it.

I look to him, surprised to find a frown on his face as he refocuses on my forearm.

“No, of course not,” he answers mildly, pressing a line of medical tape around a bandage. We sit in silence, and he stands. “Look, I’m not here to lecture you. I just need to know that you’re okay.”

“Well, I’m fine.” I’m defensive and I know it, but I glower at him stubbornly. An idea starts drifting around in my head. I can’t identify it so I push it away.

“You obviously aren’t,” he says, but doesn’t push it further. He goes back to the bag with the tray and pulls more alcohol and bandages out. He looks up at me in the mirror, hands still in the bag. “I was going to check on you at the house, but then…”

“Olaf burned it down.”

The idea from before flashes in my eyes again, but I still can’t quite grasp it.

He nods slowly, his brow furrowed. “That’s what the Baudelaires said. Why didn’t you come to me? Or K?”

I shrug. “You know how the clans are. How fast would they have dragged me back in?”

He turns back to me, feigning deafness, the tray full, and comes back to sit. He pauses, a pair of scissors poised near the bottom of my tattered top.

“If I’d known it was this bad, I would have been there a week ago.”

Slowly, he debrides my burns. He extracts the events of the past few weeks from me in that time, his eyes growing harder the more I tell him. He tells me I need an actual medic to look at my burns later, if not a real doctor, without much comment otherwise.

As I speak, the idea comes back and solidifies in my head. When he’s done, I’m sure that it’s what I need to do.

“Do you have any under the table work I can do?” I ask as he finally starts dumping the refuse from the process into the bag. He chokes a little and turns back to me, surprised.

“I thought you were done with that life?”

“I need to survive somehow,” I say, nervously glancing away. “This is the only life I know. It’s what I’m good at.”

He watches me intently, and I try to plead with only my eyes. After a moment, he shakes his head. He’s smiling, though, so I know I’ve won.

“You need to see a doctor—a therapist or something—and you need to tell me if it gets this bad again.”

I perk up, then droop slightly. “I can’t—”

“I’ll find someone to see you,” he says dismissively, his gaze boring into me. “You have to swear that you’ll keep me updated.”

I nod and stand, my entire body throbbing. “Get me a job and I’ll see a doctor.”

He hesitates, seeming unsure.

“Don’t pretend that everything’s fine, Jess,” he says gently. “You have to take time to let the pain heal.”

I shoot him an irritable look and head for the door. “Time is a luxury I don’t have at the moment. Now, are you coming or not?”

“Hang on, idiot.”

I turn back just in time to catch a bundle of fabric. I look down to see a fresh set of clothes. I glance further down, then to the bed at the pile of burned clothing he had to cut me out of. Right.

Kane slings his bag over his shoulder, his mouth a bitter line. “I can’t believe the Baudelaires let you sit here for two days. Get changed. I need to have a word with them.”

He starts toward me, and I step aside from the door to let him pass. He stops, a hand on the doorknob, and turns his eyes on me.

“I’m okay,” I say, thinking of how he must see me. Covered in bandages, a trainwreck. Begging for work when I’m possibly suicidal.

“Don’t think I believe that for a second.” He lifts a hand and rests it on my head. He moves, as if to ruffle my hair, but doesn’t actually do it. “First stop’ll be the hospital. I’ve got a contact that should be discreet.”

[kenzieam]

Phoenix Rising - Chapter 17 (Eric X OC)

Rating: M (violence/swearing/smut :p)

Genre: General/Drama/Angst

Thanks everyone for the re-blogs and support!!! IT IS SO AWESOME!!!  

@emmysrandomthoughts @beautifulramblingbrains @iammarylastar @tigpooh67 @bookwarm85 @frecklefaceb @mom2reesie @elaacreditava @badassbaker @captstefanbrandt @jaihardy @treeleaf @pathybo @beltz2016 @lilu46 @equalstrashflavoredtrash

@girlwith100names @gaia25 @readsalot73 @bookgirlthings @slayer0507 @stone-met @lostinthebeans @lauraaan182 @queenara4 @letmagichappen @girlslovestorys @tonyt1995 @sterek-foreverandever @lacy-love @littlesouthernrebel @fuckthatfeeling @micolegg @sparklemichele @vitaevandal @shaunarcanine

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For you @iammarylastar !

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The final chapter!

Fox’s gaze dropped down to their babies and her smile widened even more, a sparkle flaring in her eyes. Eric reached out his hand and cupped Fox’s cheek, unable to stop a single tear from trickling down his temple. Fox looked back up at him and her forehead immediately furrowed, a low sound of distress left her lips.

“Eric?” She whispered, her eyes beginning to fill with tears.

“Shhhhhh, shhhh baby. It’s okay, I’m just relieved you’re awake.”

“How…how long?”

“A couple of days.” Eric murmured.

“What…..happened?”

“You started bleeding….when our second son was born. They had to sedate you ……you had a severe reaction and fell into a coma….no one knew if you were going to…..” Eric trailed off, squeezing his eyes shut, not able to finish.

“I’m sorry,” Fox whispered, her voice raspy. Her hand jerked and Eric covered it again, twining their fingers together.

“It’s okay,” he breathed. “You’re here now. Do you feel alright?”

“Tired….my throat’s a little sore.”

“You had a breathing tube for awhile.”

“I…remember you talking to me….at first it was quiet, but then I could hear your voice….you were telling me about when we first met, our life together…it helped me come back, gave me something to follow.”

Eric broke down then, unable to hold back any longer. Only in front of Fox would he able to show this level of vulnerability, this level of trust.

“Eric, please…” Fox murmured brokenly. Eric brought their clasped hands up and held them against his cheek, pressing his lips to her fingers.

Fox fell silent, tears trickling quietly down her cheeks, wetting the pillow below her head as she watched Eric cry. Her heart broke as she saw his shoulders shake and heard his muffled sobs. Breathing hard, he fought to stop and shuddered a final breath before sniffing and opening his eyes. He kept his gaze low, locked on the babies. Slowly he pulled their hands down and tucked them under his chin.

“Did you name them?” Fox whispered.

Eric shook his head, raising his eyes to meet hers again. “I was waiting for you.”

Fox quirked her lip fondly and turned her gaze back to the babies. “I thought of some….while I was….sleeping.”

“Hit me,” Eric smiled.

“Which one was born first?”

Eric gently pulled their hands apart and touched the twin closest to himself. “He’s Twin A, he’s a little bigger than his brother.”

Fox gazed down at him, fierce love shining in her eyes. “Ace Alexander Coulter.” Eric’s breath caught and he gently touched their second son.

“And him?”

“Kane Dominic Coulter.”

Eric’s chest felt tight, although he’d hoped, he hadn’t expected both of their sons to share his name. “Really?” He whispered.

Fox nodded slightly. “I want them to have that part of you.”

Eric grinned widely, unable to hold back. “They’re perfect, and when our twin girls are born, we’ll name them after you.”

Fox snorted and rolled her eyes, looking so much like herself again that a tingle shot through Eric’s chest. A knock came at the door and Eric sighed, not yet ready to share Fox with anyone. The door opened slowly and the doctor poked his head in.

“I was just stopping by to…..Ms. Coulter!” Pushing the door open the doctor strode in, his eyes assessing her carefully. “Did you just wake up?”

Fox nodded, “yes, just a few minutes ago.”

“oh, very good. I’d like to run a few quick tests if I may?”

Fox nodded assent and the doctor pulled out his small flashlight. Eric waited while he flicked the beam across Fox’s eyes, watching carefully as he instructed Fox to ‘follow his finger’.

“Good, good….now do you remember your full name?”

“Fox Phoenix Coulter.”

“Your husband?”

“Eric Alexander Dominic Coulter.”

“Your faction?”

“Dauntless, I’m an initiation leader.”

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

Fox thought for a minute before answering. “Our first son being born, then…..nothing.”

The doctor nodded, “that’s to be expected. Your pupils are equal and reactive, your basic memories are intact, I’m pleased. Are you experiencing any pain?”

Fox glanced at Eric before answering, “a little.”

“We can give you an infusion of healing serum, it would shorten your healing time from weeks to hours.”

Eric frowned. “You’d need to sedate her again.”

The doctor pursed his lips for a moment. “Not necessarily. You would have a miserable few hours Fox, if we didn’t sedate you, or we could use another sedation serum.”

“No.” Eric growled lowly. “No more sedation.”

The doctor nodded. “I understand your concern, but it is really Fox’s decision.”

Fox looked back and forth between the two men. “I had a severe reaction to the sedation, right? That’s how all of this started?”

“You reacted to the serum we normally give to pregnant and breast-feeding women, and your severe reaction was the first and only we’ve had of that kind. If you wanted sedation, we would try the regular form you’ve been given before; you would just have to refrain from beginning breast-feeding until the serum had completely washed from your system.”

A question was on the tip of Fox’s tongue, but Eric beat her to it. “And what if she’s sensitive to all sedation now? Or all serums?”

The doctor sighed before answering. “Without trying them, we can’t know.”

“No.” Eric’s voice brooked no argument. “We’re not ‘trying’ anything.”

Fox clicked her tongue, “I want to try, I’m not dragging my ass around for the next few weeks while my body catches up.”

“And I’m not watching you go through that again! I can’t-” Eric broke off, standing abruptly and leaving the room.

Fox watched him, stunned, before slowly turning her attention back to the doctor. The newly named Ace mewled at the loss of his father’s body heat and Fox tenderly pulled him closer to his brother.

“It is your decision, but you must take the well-being of others into consideration as well. Your husband was….lost while you were comatose.”

Fox blinked in surprise, puzzled by an Erudite doctor advocating caution, usually they were all too eager to try new experiments, new products; wouldn’t Fox make a fascinating study for his colleagues?

The doctor read her thoughts and smiled mildly. “I’ve never been one to put the well-being of my patients below my own career gains.”

“I’d still like to try the healing serum. I’ll pass on the sedation, in any form.”

The doctor nodded in assent, “as you wish. I will prepare the dose and return shortly. I’ll send a nurse in to help with your sons, since you’re not taking the sedation serum you are free to try breast-feeding.”

Fox nodded and the doctor left. She gazed down at the twins, stroking their downy heads. Part of her was apprehensive, what if Eric was right, and all serums now affected her like that? Fox didn’t want to be weak and in pain for weeks, recovering, she wanted to return to her old life (as much as she could) right away, wanted to be intimate with her man again, not waiting until her treacherous body ceased bleeding and cramping. It was worth the risk in her mind.

A woman entered the room, knocking quietly on the door. “Mrs. Coulter? I’m Mary.” She stepped closer. “I’m your son’s nurse, I’ve been helping your husband care for them.”

A brief flash of jealousy shot through Fox, I’m sure you have, but Fox squashed it.

“The doctor said you’d like to try breast-feeding now?”

Fox nodded, feeling slightly nervous now. Mary moved to the side of the bed and smiled down at the twins. “I’m worried…..that the twins won’t bond with me now, because I missed their first few days.” Fox confessed quietly, something about Mary was soothing and Fox felt she could open up to her.

Mary shook her head, “no, they’ll always know their mother, and Eric was always holding them while sitting with you or laying on the bed with you, your sons know who you are.”

Fox swallowed hard. “I don’t know how to begin.”

“Nursing or mothering?”

“Both.” Fox laughed.

“The mothering is natural, and I’ll help with the nursing. Here, twin A is always the one wanting to eat first.” Mary reached down and gently plucked Ace up. She reached down for the bed controls and moved the head of the bed nearly vertical, to sit Fox up.

“We’ve named him Ace,” Fox replied.

Mary smiled down at the baby, “Ace, the first….perfect.” She gently lay him in Fox’s arms and as Fox pulled her gown open, helped her guide the baby to her breast.

“There, let him latch, he knows what to do.” Mary instructed, smiling up at Fox as Ace began to nurse, making tiny contented sounds as he did.

Fox huffed in surprise and Mary understood immediately. “That’s your milk dropping. Ace will probably be content to drain this side, then his brother can have the other.”

“Kane.”

“Ace and Kane, perfect names for Dauntless boys.”

The women spoke quietly as Ace nursed, Fox asking questions and Mary answering. Finally, Fox mumbled.

“I want to take the healing serum, but I’m not sure….”

Mary nodded. “You did have a horrific reaction….we honestly weren’t sure if you were going to live or not….your husband was heartbroken.”

Fox lowered her eyes. “I don’t want to be in pain for weeks, I don’t want to be afraid of taking the serum.”

“It’s not fear, it’s caution….there is more than just you riding on this now…..what if you’ve returned to your babies, and to Eric only to leave again? You might not come back this time. I’m not trying to sway you either way, but you are a mother now, and you need to think of your sons too. The pain of childbirth doesn’t last, but death does.”

Fox nodded humbly. Sometimes, to be Dauntless, the more courageous route was to accept what you had coming, and not fight it.

Both women looked up as the door opened again. Eric stepped into the room, looking pale. Mary turned back to Fox.

“Would you like me to leave the four of you alone?”

Fox nodded and Mary stood, smiling reassuringly at her. Turning, she favoured Eric with another smile and left.

Fox looked down at Ace, still nursing strongly, his little hand clutching at her. She heard Eric move closer and glanced up as he bent and gently picked Kane up, snuggling him to his chest. Fox patted the empty bed and Eric carefully sat beside her, trying not to jostle them and fell back. Eric leaned over, resting his cheek on Fox’s shoulder, his eyes landing on their son, watching him nurse. They didn’t speak for a long moment, then Fox murmured.

“I’ve decided not to take the healing serum.”

Eric lifted his head and pressed his lips to her collarbone. “Thank you baby,” he murmured, exhaling in relief as his cheek again rested on Fox’s shoulder.

“I’ll be slow and sore….and I’ll bleed for awhile.”

“I don’t care.”

“No sex for a few weeks.”

“I don’t care,” Eric repeated. “There’s lots of ways to be together…..I’d rather wait then never have you again.”

“I’m sorry Eric.”

Eric lifted his head, reading in Fox’s eyes what she meant. Sorry for disappearing. Sorry for leaving you alone with our new sons. Sorry for scaring you so badly. Sorry for being willing to risk it again just now. Sorry for not considering how you and our boys would be affected. Eric smiled, “it’s okay baby,” he murmured, leaning forward to press his lips to Fox’s, groaning quietly at the bliss found there. A small squawk from Kane made them pull apart. Ace pulled away from Fox’s breast and yawned.

“Ace is done, Kane is hungry, their timing is impeccable,” Fox grinned. Lifting Ace she turned slightly to Eric. “Trade you?”

Eric chuckled, gently placing Kane in Fox’s arms as he deftly plucked Ace from hers. He grabbed the blanket and quickly settled Ace over his shoulder to burp.

Fox was watching him, her eyes shining. “You’re good at this, daddy.”

“Had some practice.” Eric grinned back. He leaned over, watching wonderingly as Fox guided Kane to her other breast, and he moved his little mouth questingly until he found her nipple and greedily latched on.

Fox winced slightly and turned to grin at Eric. “Hungry little devil.”

“Lucky little man,” Eric countered. “Those used to be mine.”

Fox giggled, “they will be again, be patient.” Still giggling, she leaned over, resting her cheek on Eric’s shoulder now, and he closed his eyes in contentment, dropping his head lightly to hers. Ace burped quietly and settled on his father’s shoulder with a little baby sigh and Kane’s hand drifted up to clutch at his mother. ______________________________________________________________________________________________________

Three Months Later

Fox inhaled sharply and raised her head as Eric’s hand fell soft on her shoulder.

“I’ll take him,” he murmured.

Fox nodded, yawning, and gently lifted Kane away from her breast, resting him carefully on Eric’s arm.

“C’mon little buddy,” Eric crooned, moving to the other rocking chair in the nursery and lifting Kane to join his brother snuggled against his bare chest. He began to rock slowly as his massive hand began to rub Kane’s back, drawing out a burp. Fox readjusted her nursing bra and pulled her tank top back down. Wincing, she stood and stretched.

“Babe?”

She turned, “yeah?”

Eric smirked, “I think Ace needs a change, can you get him?”

Fox nodded, stepping over and pulling their eldest son from his father’s arms. Moving to the change table, she quickly cleaned and re-diapered him, lifting him to her shoulder with a hum, turning back to Eric and Kane. She smiled, leaning back against the change table as she saw that Eric had fallen asleep, his head tipped forward to touch Kane, who had also fallen asleep, his little rosebud lips parted against his father’s shoulder. Fox’s heart warmed at the sight of father and son, father a hulking massive beast of a man; who terrified initiates and commanded respect with his walk and the look in his eye alone, and his precious little offspring, tiny and already a duplicate of his father, just like Ace; both with Eric’s eyes and frowns, his way of setting their jaws when they didn’t get their way. Although they’d grown, both boys still looked tiny in their father’s hands, he could easily cradle both to his chest with one arm.

They had realized quite quickly once they’d returned to Dauntless that the boy’s favourite place to be was against Eric’s chest, even Fox’s arms were second best to Eric’s wide, warm expanse of skin and muscle. Eric would wake with Fox each night and cradle one twin while she fed the other, helping to put them back to sleep. For the first few weeks, the twins usually shared their bed, both twins laying snuggled together against Fox, who in turn had her back to Eric’s chest, his arm around her and resting on his boys, protecting them all.

Fox’s body had healed slowly, and she knew that Eric, despite his best intentions, had started to get frustrated. He missed being intimate with her, not just the sex (although that was mind-blowing), but just the caresses and snuggling. Until they’d started putting the twins to bed together in one of the cribs, and the twins had started sleeping in longer stretches, Eric and Fox had not had much time alone together, and Eric’s frustrations had begun to bleed into training, coming down hard on the initiates and kicking the shit out of the heavy bags at night. Fox had seen his knuckles when he’d returned home after these sessions, biting her lip. Eric had never blamed her or said anything, but she wasn’t stupid, she had eyes, she heard him in the shower at times, biting back a loud groan as he released pent up feelings with his hand.

Fox worried that her body had changed, had become unattractive to Eric. Her breasts were larger, and faint lines criss-crossed her abdomen, despite her best efforts with creams and oils; and she shied away unconsciously in the few moments the new parents did have together, when Eric’s hand would begin to caress her shoulder, his lips touching her skin. He was being extraordinarily patient, not one of his stronger skills, and Fox hated her new insecurities, they weren’t Dauntless, they weren’t Fox.

“Look at me,” Eric said softly, one night a few days ago, when the twins had settled quietly in their crib, Eric had rolled to lay against Fox and she’d tried to pull away. His fingers were gentle but firm on her cheek.

Unwillingly, Fox met his eyes, inhaling sharply at the emotions she saw there. Eric pressed a kiss to her lips, a long, lingering kiss that started to make Fox’s heart beat faster. He pulled away with a sigh and rested his forehead to hers.

“You are still beautiful, baby. You still make my blood pump. I love you, every bit of you….you gave me our sons, and you nearly died doing it.”

“Eric, I-”

“No,” Eric silenced her with another kiss, pulling away with effort, his fingers curling against her as he fought to be gentle. “Your body is still fucking hot, you are still fucking hot. I love you, all of you, it doesn’t matter what you look like.” He paused, his hand stroking along Fox’s arm. “I can’t wait until I can make love to you again.”

Fox’s heart had begun to race, hearing Eric’s words, his acceptance of her regardless of how she thought she looked had ignited her own desires, but, “I’m afraid it will hurt,” she confessed quietly.

“I’ll go slow,” Eric whispered against her neck, “tell me if you want me to stop.”

Fox moaned as Eric’s lips caressed her throat, as his hand reached up to cup her breast. It didn’t hurt, didn’t feel awkward like Fox had feared, it felt good, it felt like it had before, it lit a fire in her and Fox let it consume her. Cupping Eric’s cheek, Fox guided his mouth up to hers, swallowing his deep groan as their lips touched. Eric arched against Fox, pressing himself to her and Fox rolled to her back, pulling Eric on top of her, letting his weight wrap around her like a blanket, fuck, she loved his body, loved the way he felt on top of her. Eric’s lips grew more insistent and began to trail down her throat, leaving fire in their wake, Fox felt him hard against her thigh and she shifted underneath him, moaning as he brushed her core. Desire, not pain flared between her legs and she lifted her hips to press against Eric, drawing a guttural groan from his chest.

“Fuck baby,” Eric moaned, grinding against her, silently asking permission.

“Yes,” Fox murmured and Eric gave a ragged groan, sliding down his boxers; his hands stroking up and pulling at Fox’s boy shorts. She lifted her hips to help and Eric yanked them away, his lips finding her breasts now, kissing gently, mindful of their sensitivity. His hand drifted to her centre and Fox gasped as his hand cupped her, his fingers gently trailing, sliding against her folds. She moaned as Eric gently inserted his finger and began to stroke. Again, there was no pain, only pleasure.

“Fuck, you’re tight.” Eric gritted against her skin, a full-body shudder passing through him. His hand disappeared, and Fox felt the thick head of his cock instead. With a groan, Eric entered her, filling her with one slow push and Fox arched backwards with a cry of ecstasy.

Eric cursed against her throat as he began to thrust, his body trembling. If anything, Fox found she was more sensitive down there now, not less, and there was no pain, only amazing pleasure, amazing bliss, she felt jolts shooting through her limbs. Fox wrapped her legs around Eric, pulling him closer and scratched her nails up his back, shivers running up her spine as he groaned against her, each thrust inside her accompanied by a soft grunt.

Fox surrendered to the sensations racing through her, crying out as her climax hit, her nerves on fire as she writhed underneath Eric, his arms tightening around her as she pulled him along with her.

Eric groaned raggedly, eyes squeezed shut, face twisted in sweet pain as he gave in to his release, as he pulsed and spilled inside Fox. Aftershocks shook his limbs as he collapsed, rolling beside Fox and pulling her to his chest, his breath panting in his chest. No, having babies, being new parents had not diminished their sex at all, if anything, it was better.

Fox curled against him, those adorable little moans that Eric loved so much catching in her throat. Eric crushed her to him, wrapped his arms tightly around her, pressing a kiss to her throat, his heart hammering in his chest. He never wanted to leave here, never wanted to be anywhere else but here, with his sons and his wife, with his family.

“I love you all,” Eric whispered, “forever.”

[chvrliehunnam]

Poker Face || Mason & Zuri

Standing out in the back lot, which was mostly empty with the exception of a few stray cars, Mason placed his cigarette between his lips and took a slow pull from the bad habit. Even in the darkness, the dim lighting of the one lamp lot, the ruffian’s permanent scowl could be seen and all he could see ahead of him was black. Nothing was heard coming from behind him, just the sound of crickets chirping off in the weeds of the uninhibited lot that stretched on past the end of the breaking down asphalt some thirty feet ahead of him. If anything good was to be said of the establishment at his back, it was that it had some damn good sound proofing. The broad shouldered blond could hear nothing of the festivities taking place inside; nothing of the scantily clad women laughing at jokes that weren’t funny just to get the men to buy them drinks and giving the promise of spreading their legs to get a little pay out from the poor sucker they latched themselves onto for the night. Mason never cared for whores, or loose women in general, he couldn’t stand when they tried to put their filthy hands on him when he walked through places such as the one behind him. The one he came to once a week for the poker game and staring down the dumb sonsofbitches that challenged him.

 His aversion to overly sexually liberated women had absolutely nothing to do with the women themselves, mostly. It also had nothing to do with them living wildly free sex lives like any man would. The reason was because women like that reminded him of his mother. A woman whom he could never fully say if he hated or loved her or if his feelings rested somewhere in between. After she had put his ass on the street when he was just sixteen years old, he kept tabs on her, as he had spent his entire youth and childhood looking after her and stepping in front of abusive hands, and he knew what she had turned to after he had run his piece of shit step father off. She was someone that refused to help herself and wallowed in her misery, it was everyone else’s fault how she had ended up the way she did. The drunk driver that killed his father, the boys who always needed looking after rather than letting her live her life, the abusive second husband she took, and then every man that followed that didn’t take proper care of her and afford the things she needed. Mason couldn’t fucking stand anyone that couldn’t help themselves and anyone that knew a damn thing around this shithole of a town knew that Mason Kane was a man on top of the world. No one possibly knew the full details, he didn’t outwardly live richly despite becoming a self made billionaire but he was a man that present power everywhere he went. He demanded respect and if it wasn’t given he just fucking took it. Those women inside were one of his major aversions to coming to these joints any other time than poker night. Most of them he curled his lip at in disgust, they were ugly and strung out or stumbling drunk, and worst of all helpless. Mason Kane wasn’t the hero type. He never had an interest in saving a ho.

As soon as his cigarette was finished off he flicked it to the ground and ground it out with his shoe, then slowly turned on his heels and headed back to the back door, rolling his shoulders as he went. Making his way through the back hallway of the pub slash club slash poker parlor that led to the rooms where those card games took place he shoved one of those women out of the way and grumbled something offensive at her before his hand found the knob of where he was supposed to be. “Alright you fuckin’ pricks —” He began as he made his way to the table, the door slamming shut behind him about the time he pulled his chair out. “And lady,” Mason said flatly, tossing a slow tip of his head in the direction of the brunette in the room, his steely blue gaze lingering on her for a few moments. “Let’s get this goddamn game started — I don’t got all fuckin’ night to look at your fuckin’ ugly faces.” A finger jutted out and pointed in Zuri’s direction, “Her excluded of course.” As much of an aggressive asshole as he was to most everyone, he was softer with women, whatever that entailed who knew on any given day. Zuri though, she’d been to a few of these and played fucking well and that earned her a bit of respect from Mason. Granted, it wasn’t much, but it was more than anyone else at the table. Plus, she was clean and easy on the eyes, a woman he would actually stick it to if he ever attempted more than a few words in her direction. The thing was that Mason trusted no one but his brother and that wasn’t likely to change at any point in his life given how set in he was. Still, his blue eyes ventured to her every now and then as the game got under way. He wasn’t much of a talker at these things, he was careful about tells and careful about money, even if he had more than enough. 

They were only twenty minutes in or so when every person at that table jumped to some degree at the door bursting open and men flooding in armed and yelling. Immediately, Mason went for his gun but there were two pressed to his temple and he was being shouted at to rethink his move. A few of the other men had weapons on the other players, hands on the woman, and laying a few blows to the guys that resisted. The ruffian was snarling and seething with a deep rage, about ready to boil over the top as he watched greedy hands collect all the cash that was on the table, taking the whole pot. These thieves obviously weren’t from around here and when he saw one of the assholes grab Zuri’s arms, manhandling her, he just about lost his shit. Violence to women and children set Mason off quicker than anything and if anything was to be said about him it was that he had balls the size of grapefruits. He had a feeling she was capable of taking care of herself, at least to some degree, and nodded at her quickly before he reacted on a snap. Not once did he act on all the shouting going on in the room or add to it, he quickly ducked his head and spun to shove the knife he held at his side into one of the men’s gut then slide the sharp metal across his neck before dropping it and pulling his gun. All happening in a matter of seconds. The end of the bare was pointed at the other’s head and Mason didn’t hesitate on squeezing the trigger.

Quickly he tossed his military grade knife towards Zuri and began fighting off the men that reacted and came after him.

( @riselikethephoenix )

[foxvslynch]

Fox Vs. The Elephant Man

One of the most frustrating elements of David Lynch’s visual aesthetic is his reliance on (often gross) visual shorthand for his characters. Usually, beautiful people are either beautiful to signify goodness or purity, or they are beautiful as a means of highlighting the gap between their assumed goodness and purity and their debauched, dark, or otherwise sordid insides. Much of Twin Peaks is predicated on a somewhat insulting question - how could a beautiful, innocent girl like Laura Palmer come to such a horrific end? Eventually, this question is resolved, explored, and changed into many much more powerful questions, but the visual language of the series’ cast is very intentionally loaded in ways that are both powerful and unfortunate (for a powerful example, look to the clean-cut, professional exterior of Dale Cooper and the lovable, spiritual inside, for an unfortunate example look at the myriad awful ways that Audrey gets utilized).

My first viewing of The Elephant Man was refreshing and surprising because it attempts to subvert societal prejudices about disability and deformity. This is Lynch’s second feature and a notable move away from the internality of most ‘good’ Lynch films. The Elephant Man is a collaboration with other writers (Christopher De Vore and co) and reality, or at least, 19th-century records of reality. It is an adaptation of two books, Frederick Treve’s 1923 book The Elephant Man and Other Rememberances and The Elephant Man: A Study in Human Dignity by Ashley Montagu. Lynch (mostly) steps outside of his typical surrealistic mode to deliver a straightforward period piece / biopic about Joseph Merrick (changed to John Merrick in the film) a severely deformed twenty-two year old London man in the nineteenth century who is discovered by the surgeon Frederick Treves and becomes the talk of London high-society.

 The most easily identified ‘classic Lynch’ aspect of the film are the opening and closing impressionistic dream sequences. The opening scene is a stylized take on whatever befell John Merrick’s mother whether his severe deformations were really the result of elephant trampling or not. It opens with a photograph of a woman (John’s mother), which then dissolves into a seemingly unframed photograph, which then dissolves into a small herd of out-of-focus elephants knocking down and attacking an actress who seems to be a composite of the two photographs of Merrick’s mother. This sequence contains terrifying distorted sounds of screaming and elephant trumpeting and faux-stop motion images of a woman writhing in pain. The sequence concludes with white smoke and the crying of an infant. The metaphors on display here aren’t exactly elaborate, but they do give a hint into the pathos of Merrick, as I believe we are meant to see them as originating from his mind.

The second dream sequence is very explicitly also from Merrick’s mind, and bookends the film. Frankly, I have very little to say about it. It’s comforting, I assume it exists to give a sense of closure and peace for Merrick who dies young in bed, but there just isn’t that much in it to really latch onto.

This write up will not be a scene-by-scene of the plot. I want to speak, instead, about a few of the stylistic and thematic elements of the film that I thought were interesting and worth expounding on. 

The most important interior in this film are the corridors and chambers of the East London hospital. When Merrick is first brought to the hospital, Lynch uses the techniques of horror films to give insight into perspective of the normal characters, the hospital staff.  The ‘monster’ is jostled into the hospital with a bag over his head. Every head in the room is turned to him immediately and you can imagine them imagining what this man looks like that he should be brought in in a large coat and with a bag over his head. There is a lot of powerful imagery in the first half of the film: high-angle shots of nurses walking tensely down long hallways, long trips up flights of stairs, etc. A nurse walks in on a half-naked Merrick, there is an extremely typical jump cut to her screaming face, straight out of Hitchcockian horror, a la Psycho.  This seems to be used to evoke the visceral ‘feeling’ that these women have towards the disfigured and strange Merrick. It’s a horror film intentionally drained of all danger. Their reactions are very pointedly unwarranted – Merrick is not a threat, the man can barely walk and has to sleep sitting up to avoid suffocating. The fear, as with most fear of the other, comes more from the hangups of their culture than the reality of the situation. As the hospital staff comes to know and understand the common humanity that Merrick shares, the visual language of the interior of the hospital becomes much more conventional. Merrick is transported from a drab, clinical room to a cozy, homely apartment.

 Another interesting aspect of the film is the reactions to Merrick from the differing social classes. A somewhat underbaked question that the film presents is: does high society actually harbor the same sensibilities and biases, as the unwashed masses? Is the façade of social class simply the differences in expressing the same things? John Merrick is made an exhibit multiple times throughout the film. In the beginning, he is a fixture of a traveling freak show where he is treated as an invalid and exploited by a modern-day slave owner who parades Merrick around, exploits his misfortune, and pretends they are in a mutually beneficial partnership. After all, if Merrick cannot work – what other option is there than ritual debasement and abuse? The second form of exhibitionism is perpetrated by Dr. Treves, who uses Merrick’s deformed body to make a name for himself in London’s anatomical society. There is a scene where Merrick is displayed naked to the audience of doctors that is eerily reminiscent of the circus freak show – he is treated as a pitiful mass of flesh to be gawked at but not to be understood. Treves clinical exhibition is certainly his most unsympathetic moment in the film. He will eventually reckon with the similarities between the anatomical society and the freak-show slaver, and his efforts to give Merrick a comfortable, noble life certainly end up redeeming Treves. The third form of exhibitionism is perpetrated by London high-society socialites who install Merrick as a fashionable dinner guest. These men and women are mostly uninterested in the life or perspective of Merrick and they seem to fear his appearance as much as the impoverished freak show attendees do. There are only a few visitors who dash these expectations, and they are certainly the heroes of the film. The fourth form of exhibitionism is perpetrated by a night watch guard using John Merrick as an attraction for his crowd of seedy, deviant friends. I almost read this as a commentary on the inherent exhibitionism of freakshow horror films in general, or the zeitgeist of the counterculture who goes to see Rocky Horror or Eraserhead at drive-ins at midnight. To look forward for a moment, I could certainly imagine Dennis Hopper’s band of deviants paying Merrick a drunken visit if Blue Velvet were in The Elephant Man’s universe. These scenes are deeply unsettling: he is abused, spun around, and made an object of mockery and exoticist derision. However, it is also the most honest form of abuse. No bones are made about the point of these excursions. There is no feigned interest in his unusual anatomy from a scientific standpoint; no one (like the circus owner in the freakshow) considers there to be any form of mutual benefit. There is no rhetoric of ‘partnership’ between the security guard and Merrick. It is pure, straightforward profiteering and abuse.. Another fourth form is Merrick’s role in London high society.  

The reason I consider the preceding theme to be somewhat undercooked is how little water it holds. While you can, certainly, notice the parallels between tea and biscuits and a traveling circus, it is obvious which one is preferable to Merrick. In one, he is abused, gawked at, and cheated. In the other, he gets to keep the company of the most exclusive Londoners, pursue his artistic ambitions, and experience art and culture – all at the cost of a few trendy tea parties.  

It has also been mentioned to me, and I should point out, that this film almost certainly contains some of the best ‘naturalistic’ performances in Lynch’s career. Now, before I get into this, I should explain what I mean. Last week, I wrote about Lynch’s unique perspective on the medium of film and his intuitive understanding of the artifice: we are watching a dream projected onto a two-dimensional canvas. This perspective extends into the performances he gets from his actors. Since the mid-1950s, and especially since the 1970s, big-budget American filmmaking has been very explicitly linked to naturalistic acting. Most of the time, American directors are trying to get performances that feel real, or at least internally consistent, and there are plenty of incredible examples of this: Orson Welles in Citizen Kane, Al Pacino in The Godfather, Elizabeth Taylor in Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf, Daniel Day-Lewis in There Will Be Blood etc. These performances are about the creation, sustaining, and dramatic deviation from a ‘center’, a realistic voice and perspective. David Lynch is not, in my opinion, a great ‘naturalistic’ character writer or director. That simply isn’t his usual focus, though the emotions he does wish to conjure are real and powerful. He will often take actors to cheesy or unconvincing places (think of the glassy eyed women of Blue Velvet or Patricia Arquette in Lost Highway) in service of a broader point or narrative aesthetic.  

The Elephant Man feels notable for both being a good David Lynch film and featuring naturalistic, centralized characters.Anthony Hopkins is, by virtue of being Anthony Hopkins in a well-made film, fabulous. The character of Frederick Treves is absurdly well defined for how little we tangibly learn about him. You can watch the film and see his reservation, his deep self-awareness and sense of morality, his goodness, and his conflict. However, the real runaway of the film is certainly John Hurt as John Merrick. Despite the fact that he is an insane prosthetic getup the whole time (or because of it?) he is able to give Merrick depth and pathos. The first third of the film is spent with Merrick in silence. Joseph Treves believes that Merrick can mostly only vocalize as a parrot, and when it is revealed that Merrick has his own mind and knows how to express it – it’s just beautiful. One of my favorite aspects of this film is just to watch John Hurt walk. So much physical pain and exhaustion is in every step. It’s a beautiful, thoughtful performance.

To wrap this film up, I want to get a little more personal. I have Moebius Syndrome, a neurological condition that is most visibly present in my face. My face is mostly paralyzed. I can’t smile, my speech (though much better than it was as a kid) is always going to be hard for some people to understand, my eyes don’t really close in the traditional sense, I have virtually no lateral eye movement, etc. As a result, I have an eternal poker face that I spoil by also being uncontrollably expressive with my body. I find it reassuring that Lynch, who is often kind of gross to me with how he uses deformity and disability as a shorthand for deviousness or immorality, made a film where we are supposed to cheer for and believe in the ‘monster’. The most accurate part of the film, to my experience as a disabled person, was John Merrick’s socialization process by Treves and the hospital staff, and the natural downsides he still has with communication. Something that people who cannot express themselves ‘normally’ can’t understand is how much of their internality they can make external unconsciously. Without concerted effort, I cannot present the full spectrum of my thoughts with my face, or even the surface level ones like happiness or anger, and so what exists inside of me is able to simply stay there, if I don’t act on it. There is a sort of solace and superpower to being able to choose what you will show, and I love that we always have a sense that Merrick has a deeper internality than he lets on. There are a few examples, like knowing the 23rd Psalm, recognizing his impending death, and his attempts to explain to others his feelings. I love that there is a film that tries to take seriously the experience of forced internality. I also love that this film believes in the goodness of the helpers, the people who know there is value inside of every person and who work to bring it out.

Next week, we meet Kyle MacLachlan for the first time in this series – IN SPACE! That’s right, it’s nearing time to take on David Lynch’s 1984 adaptation of Dune, the 1965 Frank Herbert novel.

[andromeda---galaxy]

Be That Person

Last day of Philkas week! This is my “anything you want” fill. Rating: E Words: 2134 Prompt: anything you want

Philip has only had two panic attacks since they both almost died, but he can feel another one coming on. Boiling in the pit of his chest, hanging on his every thought, on the way the air moves. Helen and Gabe asked ten times before they left if he was going to be alright and he kept assuring them it’s been three weeks, I’ll be fine, I’ll be fine but he’s not fine, he’s not okay, he’s alone and he feels fucking sick.

 He texts Lukas. Can you come over? He waits, sits there clutching his phone, and the reply comes quicker than he thought it would.

 You okay?

 Philip can’t really convey how not okay he is. He hates how desperate he is for Lukas, even though Lukas has his own shit and Lukas was shot and Lukas went through the same thing as him. I need you he sends.

 Give me 20 minutes. Dad heading to bed and I’ll be right there. Helen and Gabe?

 Out late. Home around one in the morning if Gabe estimated right. Philip sighs, swallowing hard.

 Be there soon, okay? Just hold on.

But he can’t. Philip stares at the way the light hits the walls and feels like he’s falling into a pit. Feels like he’s being dragged into one. Key under the rabbit he texts, and feels like he’s going to throw up.

 He sits there for another moment or so before he gets up, starts pacing around the room. He tries to tell himself it’s over, they made it, they’re alive, they’re okay. But his mom isn’t. His mom is gone. That fucker Ryan Kane took her away. And the world is a little smaller, a little more painful. A lot more painful. Pain that sits in his nerves and startles him, claws at him. He can’t find her voice. He can’t find his own.

 He starts towards the bathroom and nearly knocks the door down getting in there. He grips at his throat and dry heaves a little bit, not even bothering to move towards the toilet, and before he even really decides on what he’s doing he turns the shower on. He’s still wearing his clothes but he doesn’t care, stepping in under the spray and feeling his shirt wilt as it gets wet. He usually hates wet jeans, rolls them up when it’s raining, but he can’t think properly. It’s cold but he doesn’t change it, doesn’t fix it, because he can barely move. He draws his knees up to his chest and the world turns. He closes his eyes.

 It feels like a lifetime later but hands latch onto him, shaking him.

 “Philip,” Lukas says. “Oh my God. What are you doing?”

 Lukas is getting wet too. Philip is trembling, his teeth chattering. “I need—I need to be in here.”

 “It’s cold, you’re too cold,” Lukas says. He reaches into the shower and twists the knobs until the water gets significantly warmer. He straightens up, looking around like there might be some kind of note to explain to him how to deal with this. He’s breathing hard and he puts his hands on his hips, staring down at Philip. “How long have you been in there?”

 “Don’t know,” Philip says, looking away from him.

 “You gonna stay in there?” Lukas asks, his voice going a little high.

 Philip swallows over the tightness in his throat. “I feel…I feel like…” He can’t explain himself, can’t say that he feels safer in here somehow even though he’s only now getting over being cold. He can’t say how any of this makes sense.

 But Lukas strips off his shirt and kicks off his shoes, pulling his pants down and off until he’s only in his boxers. He steps into the shower and pulls the door closed behind him. He stands there for a moment as his hair gets wet, and Philip stares up at him, a little surprised. Lukas kneels down and there’s an easy smile on his face as he reaches out, brushing his thumb across Philip’s cheek. “You wanna have all your clothes on?” he asks, and there’s a cadence to his voice that makes Philip’s stomach twist in knots.

 “Not really,” Philip says. “No. I…I don’t.”

 “Come on,” Lukas says. He holds out his hands and Philip takes them, letting himself be drawn to his feet before he can even really think about it. The water is hitting them at a different angle now and it beads down Lukas’s nose; Philip watches him reach up, pushing his hair out of his face before he’s helping Philip’s shirt over his head, sliding the shower door open a little bit and dropping it outside on the tile. He reaches down and undoes Philip’s button and fly like it’s nothing, and he starts talking.

 “I was reading this article that reminded me of you,” Lukas says, working Philip’s pants over his hips.

 “Yeah?” Philip asks, a little dazed.

 “About this guy who, uh, had a lot of loss in his life. He got into photography and started taking pictures of everything that made him forget, everything that…made him feel like he was living in the moment and not focusing on what hurt him.” He rests his hands on Philip’s hips and Philip steps out of his pants, watching as Lukas picks them up and sends them the way of his shirt, closing the door again. He briefly touches Philip’s chin to make him look up at him. “Maybe...maybe you should do that. Maybe I should…do it with you.”

 Philip smiles at him, moving a little closer. He rests one hand at the base of Lukas’s neck, the other on his shoulder. “Wanna take a picture right now,” he says.

 “I look stupid when I’m wet,” Lukas says, raising one eyebrow.

 “You never look stupid,” Philip says.

 “Lying straight to my face,” Lukas says. Philip shakes his head and Lukas smiles a little bit. “You doing okay?”

 “Almost,” Philip breathes. “Can you just…hold onto me?” he asks.

 “Of course,” Lukas says. He kisses Philip’s forehead softly and pulls him close, Philip resting his head on Lukas’s shoulder. He tries to center himself, tries to focus on Lukas’s fingers trailing up and down his back.

 “You’re not cold anymore, right?” Lukas whispers. Philip shakes his head. Lukas kisses his temple and rubs circles into a spot by his shoulder blade, humming a little bit. “You want me to wash your hair?”

 Philip snorts. “Do you want to wash my hair?”

 “Maybe,” Lukas says.

 The idea of Lukas’s hands in his hair makes him stop shaking, so it feels like the right thing to do. “Yeah, okay.”

 Lukas grins and holds onto his hand when he leans down, grabbing the shampoo bottle. “Hawaiian breeze?”

 “It’s Helen’s,” Philip says, shrugging a little bit. “I ran out of mine, I think she’s getting me more tom—”

 “I use this,” Lukas says, grinning.

 Philip laughs. “Oh. Well. It does smell good.”

 “It does,” Lukas says, popping the bottle open. They move a bit out of the spray of the water, Lukas squeezing some out into his hand. He kneads it into Philip’s hair and lathers it up—he moves meticulously, slowly, and Philip closes his eyes, breathing out, trying to savor this. He hums a little to himself.

 “That feel good?” Lukas asks.

 “Yeah,” Philip breathes

 Lukas rubs it in, taking his time and massaging Philip’s scalp. After a little bit longer he leans him forward, gently washing the shampoo away.

 “There we go,” Lukas says, brushing his thumb over Philip’s cheekbone.

 “That was nice,” Philip says. “Better than I do it myself.”

 “I’m good with my hands,” Lukas says, shrugging a little bit. “You doing any better?”

 “Yeah, I’m—I feel more…here,” Philip says, and he means it. “More present and calm.”

 “Good,” Lukas says. He leans in, bringing their mouths together. Lukas always seems like he pours everything into their kisses but this one is even more intense, one of his hands pressing against Philip’s back and drawing them flush together. Philip tangles his hands in the tendrils of Lukas’s hair and moans into his mouth.

 “You have a very up and down relationship with water,” Lukas whispers against his mouth, nipping at his bottom lip. “This the same kind of thing as the pot in the sink?”

 “Yeah, I guess so,” Philip says. “Like feeling it all around me can wash away everything I’m thinking and feeling.”

 “Am I really helping by being here?” Lukas asks, and there’s an uncertainty in his eyes.

 “Yes,” Philip says. “Absolutely, you are.” He recalls the time where he didn’t think something like this was possible with Lukas. Such intimate closeness, a piece of the world that belongs to them and only them. A place where Lukas wants to be with him, under any circumstances. Lukas pulls him close again and Philip closes his eyes, sighing into Lukas’s skin.

 “I used to hide under the bed when I got scared,” Lukas says, into the curve of Philip’s neck. “Until it got too dusty.”

 “Did you feel safe there?” Philip asks.

 “Yeah,” Lukas says, kissing his shoulder. “But now I feel safe with you.”

 Philip’s brows knit together. “Really?”

 “Yes,” Lukas says definitively. He wraps his arms around Philip tighter and cups the back of his head, his fingers getting caught up in the tangles of his hair. “When did you say Helen and Gabe are gonna be back?”

 Philip’s stomach twists again. “A while.”

 Lukas hums and nods a little bit.

 “I…” Philip breathes. “I need you. I want you.”

 “You wanna get out of our boxers, too?” Lukas asks, a little quietly, leaning back to look at him.

 “Yes,” Philip says fast, kissing him. They both paw at each other’s waistbands, knocking into each other’s arms and laughing softly into each other’s mouths. They don’t bother with depositing their underwear outside the shower and only step closer together, Lukas reaching down and squeezing newly revealed skin. “Jesus,” Philip whispers.

 “I’ll never get tired of getting to see you naked,” Lukas says, nuzzling their noses together. “It’s like a gift every time.”

 “You’re ridiculous,” Philip laughs, but the sound changes abruptly when Lukas reaches down and touches him.

 Lukas leans in, his lips brushing against Philip’s ear. “I’m gonna take care of you,” Lukas whispers, sliding his hand up and down Philip’s length. “All the time,” he whispers. “When you’re sick. When you’re lost. When you want me.”

 Philip moans and fumbles around, taking Lukas’s dick in his own hand and feeling Lukas’s hand stutter. “Always—I always want you,” Philip says.

 “God, baby,” Lukas whispers, trying to kiss him but only crashing their mouths together as he groans. The water is dripping from his hair, off the tip of his nose.

 They touch each other desperately and Philip can hardly believe that Lukas knows just how to make him feel like this, and he tries so hard to focus on what he’s doing too, anxious to make Lukas feel as good as he does. Lukas claws at Philip’s waist with his free hand, trying to bring him closer.

 “Philip,” Lukas says, his Adam’s apple bopping as he swallows hard.

 “Lukas,” Philip answers. He can feel his body tightening and he grips Lukas’s neck, trying to match his pace. He tries not to think about how natural this feels, how it feels like he was made to touch Lukas like this.

 Lukas moans and falls into him a little bit, shaking and trembling as he steals an urgent kiss. “I love you,” he gasps as he comes apart, arching his neck a little bit still keeping his hold. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

 He twists his wrist a little bit and that’s all it takes for Philip to follow him down, his broken moan echoing off the shower walls. They work each other through the rest of it and eventually Lukas pulls Philip against him again, the water washing everything away as they sway on their feet.

 “I love you too,” Philip whispers, kissing Lukas’s neck. “Thank you.”

 “For what? Getting you off?”

 Philip snorts, squeezing his eyes shut tight. “I guess that’s part of it,” he says, leaning back to look at him.

 Lukas grins, water in his eyelashes as he leans forward, pressing a kiss to the corner of Philip’s mouth. “You’re welcome,” he says. “I’m glad I can…do anything, you know? I wanna take care of you, I want to be that person you call when you need someone.”

 “You are,” Philip says.

 “I think we’re gonna be okay,” Lukas whispers, staying close.

 Philip nods, sliding his hands around to rest at the small of Lukas’s back. “I think so too.”

[zeroviraluniverse-blog]

Williamson stars as New Zealand find lift-off

Visit Now - http://zeroviral.com/williamson-stars-as-new-zealand-find-lift-off/

Williamson stars as New Zealand find lift-off

New Zealand 196 for 5 (Williamson 72, Guptill 64) beat England 184 for 9 (Malan 59, Hales 47) by 12 runs

Kane Williamson provided a stirring riposte to suggestions he should step aside from the T20 side by top-scoring with 72 as New Zealand put themselves on course for a spot in the tri-series final. Williamson starred alongside Martin Guptill with the bat as New Zealand posted an imposing 196 for 5. Though Dawid Malan steered a strong attempt to haul in a demanding target England fell 12 short to leave them needing a favour off Australia to stay alive in the tournament.

Alex Hales, who struck an unbeaten 80 on this ground in 2013, launched the chase with 47 off 24 balls and Malan’s fine form continued to keep the asking rate in sight. But chasing 197 does not leave much room for error and the back-to-back losses of James Vince, run out by Williamson from mid-off, and Jos Buttler, unable to defeat the stiff Wellington breeze to clear long-off, left it on Malan’s shoulders.

New Zealand made life tougher for themselves with a brace of drops in the deep, the first by Mitchell Santner at long-on also palming David Willey’s shot for six, making it 18 off Ish Sodhi’s final over and leaving England needing 48 off 24 balls with five wickets in hand. That became 39 off 23 after Malan’s second six, but Santner responded to the drop by holding his nerve with the ball to have Malan taken at long-on. England will, again, rue a match where they had their chances.

Williamson, who before the game reiterated his desire to play all three formats following recent questions over his place, survived a run-out chance first ball when Mark Wood, the bowler, couldn’t hit from just off the pitch and then added 82 in nine overs with Guptill, while there were handy camoes from Mark Chapman and Tim Seifert on their New Zealand debuts (Chapman having previously played for Hong Kong).

Having misread pitches in Australia, England this time went with a pace-heavy attack – recalling Wood and Liam Plunkett – but, by and large, the faster it came the easier it was for New Zealand (four overs from Colin Munro and Colin de Grandhomme later went for just 26) although Adil Rashid also took some punishment. Once again, England did not think outside their five-man attack.

Buttler had been pleased at the chance to bowl first on a two-toned pitch that prompted much talk after England twice struggled to adapt to setting a total in Australia. In the end, the pitch played much better than it looked but the bowlers were inconsistent early on. Guptill provided the early momentum, hitting cleanly through the line, and by the end of the Powerplay New Zealand were 50 for 1.

Briefly England stemmed the rate after the fielding restrictions relaxed, but then Guptill and Williamson kicked on. Guptill targeted Rashid, taking him for consecutive sixes over the leg side – the first raising a 31-ball fifty – while Williamson started to relocate the middle of the bat, which has proved elusive in the last few weeks.

Guptill could barely believe it when he scooped a low full toss from Rashid to short fine leg then de Grandhomme fell first ball to a spectacular catch at long-off by Chris Jordan, who leapt and held a one-handed grab above his head while remaining inside the boundary.

But any hope England had that the double blow would stem the boundaries was shattered by Williamson who collected three sixes in five balls after the wickets, taking his tally for the innings to four. Williamson helped 20 runs come from Wood’s third over, two sixes followed by a wonderful wristy flick which showcased his classical timing and placement.

Chapman started by giving Williamson the strike and then pulled his fifth ball for six. A superb 18th over from Jordan cost just three and removed Williamson, but Wood was taken for another six by Chapman, who found deep midwicket three balls after Sam Billings dropped him in the same position. Seifert ensured a strong finish as he latched on to Jordan when he missed his yorkers in the final over with consecutive sixes.

Ahead of the match, Jason Roy talked about the “bee in the bonnet” of England’s batsmen after some poor performances and it will still be buzzing around his head as a lean run continued when he chipped to mid-on. England, though, were ahead of New Zealand on the comparison thanks to Hales finding his range with three sixes, only for him to then pick out deep midwicket against a Sodhi long-hop.

Vince played one dreamy lofted cover drive for six then ran as though he was dreaming, taking on Williamson at mid-off and opting not to dive with a direct finding him short. In the next over Sodhi claimed the huge scalp of Buttler who appeared to have connected sweetly with his shot down the ground, but Tim Southee ran around the rope to take a well-judged catch.

Malan had been 23 off 23 balls when Santner couldn’t haul in what would have been a spectacular grab at long-off and proceeded to speed to his fifty from just another 13 deliveries making it three in four innings at the start of his T20I career. However, after he departed Trent Boult showed the value of full-and-straight to snuff out any chance of England’s allrounders snatching the game away.

[daleisgreat]

Straight to the Top: Money in the Bank Anthology

Several years ago WWE started releasing a few home videos compiling the most notorious gimmick matches in pro wrestling history. In 2013 they released a compilation I will be covering today, Straight to the Top: Money in the Bank Anthology (trailer). It consists of every MitB match through 2013; that is 14 matches of insane ladder spots! For newer fans of wrestling unfamiliar with the MitB match, it is a ladder match that usually happens once a year (originally debuting at Wrestlemania in 2005 before shifting over to its own self-titled PPV in 2010) featuring anywhere from 5-10 wrestlers vying to grab a briefcase off the top of the ladder to win. Inside the almighty briefcase is a contract guaranteeing a world title shot to be cashed in at anytime of the winner’s choosing within the next calendar year. A majority of the MitB winners were mid-card talent who successfully cashed in and became world champions. Winning MitB almost certainly guaranteed a world title reign and a transition from the mid-card to the main event. Every match in here features a nonstop dazzling array of flips and dives and wrestlers getting creative with the ladders for all kinds of spots. Instead of breaking down each match individually, I will instead opt to highlight several things that popped out to me all these years later and other random factoids worth pointing out.

-The Miz is the host of Straight to the Top. He chimes in every couple of matches detailing changes to the MitB match over the years and recapping how some previous winners cashed in their title shot. Miz does not phone this in and is legitimately good in his hosting scenes and he paints a good picture setting up matches and recapping the success of past winners, including hyping himself up a lot after his 2010 MitB win. For those that may have forgot, that cash-in lead to my all-time favorite fan shot of ‘MizGirl’ looking pissed after Miz cashed in and won the WWE Title from Randy Orton. -The first few matches in this collection are before WWE went HD in 2008 and are presented with ladder graphics on the side to help smooth off the resolution to its native format. Those are also mostly the matches that Jim Ross calls before Michael Cole took over. I miss Jim Ross. Cole is a pretty good replacement for the most part, except there are a couple matches where Cole was in the middle of his villain ‘Cole Miner’ run where he is more annoying. Luckily Cole dialed back his villain character on PPV so it is not all that bad, and is nowhere as insufferable as Booker T on commentary. When Booker T first started announcing in 2011, he was atrocious and his co-announcers rip on him nonstop throughout. Now in 2017 Booker T is…..still awful on commentary. Why did Booker T have to replace David Otunga on commentary this year!?! Otunga is far superior than Booker on commentary.

-It is worth noting that the first MitB contest in 2005 does have Chris Benoit in it. I think this is only the third or fourth Benoit match I have seen since the 2007 tragedy. It is hard to explain how that feels since WWE has not featured him in most home video releases since the double murder/suicide. WWE does make some edits around him in the 2005 match by removing his entrance and all lines of commentary pertaining to Benoit which makes for some awkward lulls whenever Benoit is on the offensive. I have no problem with WWE doing this and part of me is surprised they included this match in its entirety when they could have just done a quick highlights package instead and danced around Benoit’s involvement in the match. I can only ponder how befuddled newer fans not familiar with Benoit must feel watching this match and wondering who that unnamed wrestler is and why the announcers suddenly get quiet when he is on the attack. -Shelton Benjamin is the highlight of the first batch of MitB matches. He is in five of the first six and in each one he usually has one or two surprising moments of ingenuity with the ladder that I have seen no one try to repeat since. Kofi Kingston and Evan Bourne take over for Shelton for creative ladder spots in the second half of Straight to the Top. Kofi’s spots are a little goofier and do not usually pan out as well, but are still entertaining regardless. Reliving these matches again make me really miss Evan Bourne and I wish he was not as careless when it came to the PED tests he failed back-to-back that lead to his early WWE exit. I was stunned to see throughout this set that Rey Mysterio was only involved in just one MitB match in his lengthy WWE run.

-Kane is in a majority of the MitB matches in this anthology. He usually has one standout moment in a match where he does his vintage top rope clothesline or some other monstrous spot before the other competitors team up and incapacitate him for the rest of the match. I felt happy for Kane however when his lucked change in 2010 when he finally gets revenge and singlehandedly incapacitates each opponent with a destructive move before grabbing the briefcase for his MitB victory. I prefer how I originally worded this in my notes as ‘KANE KILLS EVERYONE TO GRAB BRIEFCASE.’ -Speaking of other unlikely big men to be in the MitB match, my favorite big man, Mark Henry is in a couple and I will give him a shoutout for a couple memorable spots, like teasing going off the top rope in 2009 before he gets tripped up and just dangles on top of the turnbuckle. In 2010 Henry has an awesome moment where he parts two ladders like how Moses parted the Red Sea….seriously. Believe it or not, Big Show participated in two MitB matches, and both times saw the inclusion of the super-ladder custom built for Big Show and capable of holding one ton of weight. Just watching Big Show attempt to get that beast of a ladder in the ring is an entertaining feat of itself and the wrestlers capitalize on taking advantage of that unique ladder.

-With so many ladder spots occurring in each match, there are going to naturally be a few botches transpiring here and there. I am never a fan of the ‘You ****ed up’ chants that happen when moves go awry because wrestlers can potentially injure themselves badly on a botch and it is incredibly disrespectful to the talent. The exception to this however is a comical botch where the danger level is low-to-nonexistent. There is the ultimate comical botch to the finish of the 2012 MitB match that John Cena won when John accidentally broke off the latch with his super-strength before he was suppose to win the match and he had to suddenly feign victory excitement before going back to bashing Big Show on the head with the briefcase. -Probably the most vicious-looking spot of the collection is Sheamus powerbombing poor SinCara through a ladder, which lead to him getting the EMT-removal-treatment.

-The two hours of BluRay exclusives for Straight to the Top are probably the best exclusives of all other WWE BluRays. They feature all MitB cash-ins in their entirety. That is 12 matches all together, but of those 12, only two of them are main-event caliber match-ups. That is because only Rob Van Dam and John Cena are the only two MitB winners to announce their cash-in ahead of time so their bout was featured as a marquee main event match. All 10 other winners cashed in after the incumbent champion was in a vulnerable state after a grueling match or after getting ambushed unexpectedly by other wrestlers and made relatively quick work of the weakened champion. Watching the first cash-in again brought back memories of getting goosebumps because I did not know how the first ever cash-in would play out and it was so surprising because Edge waited 10 months to use it on a prone John Cena. Reliving RVD’s cash-in at One Night Stand 2006 was also special because it was in front of a raucous ECW-centric crowd at the Manhattan Center who ripped into John Cena with no remorse throughout the entire match. A few of the cash-ins I completely forgot about because a lot of them went down so similarly. -I know fans that look forward to the MitB match each year more than the Royal Rumble match. Reliving all these matches again was a riot and there is rarely a dull moment in any of them. There are some stronger MitB matches than others, but nearly every match has several OMG moments. The only downside to this set is that it is now outdated by a few years and does not feature the last few MitB matches, but I guess that is what the WWE Network is for nowadays. If you want a vast majority of the MitB bouts on a nice BluRay set and not have to worry about digging through them individually on the WWE Network archives, then Straight to the Top: Money in the Bank Anthology is the way to go. Past Wrestling Blogs Best of WCW Clash of Champions Best of WCW Monday Nitro Volume 2 Best of WCW Monday Nitro Volume 3 Biggest Knuckleheads Bobby The Brain Heenan Daniel Bryan: Just Say Yes Yes Yes DDP: Positively Living Dusty Rhodes WWE Network Specials ECW Unreleased: Vol 1 ECW Unreleased: Vol 2 ECW Unreleased: Vol 3 For All Mankind Goldberg: The Ultimate Collection Its Good to Be the King: The Jerry Lawler Story Ladies and Gentlemen My Name is Paul Heyman Legends of Mid South Wrestling Macho Man: The Randy Savage Story Memphis Heat OMG Vol 2: Top 50 Incidents in WCW History OMG Vol 3: Top 50 Incidents in ECW History Owen: Hart of Gold RoH Supercard of Honor V RoH Supercard of Honor VI RoH Supercard of Honor VII RoH Supercard of Honor VIII RoH Supercard of Honor IX RoH Supercard of Honor X ScoobyDoo Wrestlemania Mystery Sting: Into the Light Superstar Collection: Zach Ryder TNA Lockdown 2005-2014 Top 50 Superstars of All Time Tough Enough: Million Dollar Season True Giants Ultimate Fan Pack: Roman Reigns Ultimate Warrior: Always Believe Warrior Week on WWE Network Wrestlemania 3: Championship Edition Wrestlemania 28 Wrestlemania 29 Wrestlemania 30 Wrestlemania 31 Wrestlemania 32 The Wrestler (2008) Wrestling Road Diaries Too Wrestling Road Diaries Three: Funny Equals Money Wrestlings Greatest Factions WWE Network Original Specials First Half 2015 WWE Network Original Specials Second Half 2015 WWE Network Original Specials First Half 2016 WWE Network Original Specials Second Half 2016 WWE Network Original Specials First Half 2017

[kinetic-elaboration]

June 18: Thoughts on 1x07 Contents Under Pressure

Finally continued my The 100 Season 1 rewatch yesterday. Wrote some notes:

It kind of looks like the Council is also the judicial system on the Ark, which honestly shouldn’t surprise me at all. Whatever hearings they do seem to take place in the Council chamber. I still think Marcus is basically the prosecutor or otherwise sort of in charge of the judicial function—Jaha is fine and still Chancellor but it’s Marcus reading out the summary of Abby’s case. She’s spared because her “medical expertise is still required” which fits with my theory about the Ark class hierarchy.

Raven identifies herself as from Mecha Station, so if I ever need to establish the canon nature of this fact, this is where it is, 1x07. Also, she identifies herself to Sinclair as if he didn’t already know her but that could just be because she doesn’t recognize his voice.

That moment when Abby hears Clarke’s voice was so lovely. Nothing in the second two seasons stirs my heart like small moments in the first two. Also when Jaha hears that Wells isn’t alive, fuck, that’s too sad. Get it away.

Apparently this is Miller’s first episode.

Also man I love storm episodes. Big weather events get me EVERY TIME.

They say at the beginning that Monty, Jasper, and Bellamy aren’t back yet—I know it’s been a while since I saw the last ep but weren’t they all in at the end of it? I remember Bellamy closing the gate and dramatically saying “there’s a storm coming.” And if you know there’s a storm coming, why would you wander the fuck off? Okay never mind, Bellamy went Grounder hunting. And this is also where Miller was introduced—his first scene is dragging in Lincoln.

Raven taking a drink of moonshine before sterilizing her hands and Clarke smiling fondly at her = why I ship (S1) Princess Mechanic.

OMG little doggy made out of nuts and bolts that is the most adorable thing. I miss the Ark aesthetic SO MUCH.

Honestly, that Clarke has assisted her mom in surgery, meaning she’s trained at least partly directly under Abby, makes me wonder how close they are/were. Like, a combination of them starting the show estranged and fan fiction too often painting Abby as a bitch or their relationship as strained has somewhat obscured what I think is canonically a strong bond between Abby and Clarke—not just because they’re mother and daughter, I mean they genuinely were close beyond even that.

The Bellamy, Miller, and Lincoln scene: First, it’s my headcanon that Lincoln was the spy on the camp the entire time, including back to the pilot (IDK who that actor was, I’m not saying it was Ricky Whittle, just that I think it was Lincoln-the-character in a lot of war paint and shadows), and that his reports might have been designed the whole time to keep Anya et. al. at bay, and also that he might have volunteered for the spying job because he was curious about the Sky People—and that fits with this scene. Second, when Bellamy says they’ve “lost” 10 people, I wonder if he’s counting exile Murphy. I hope so.

Bellamy sees a picture of a big furry creature and asks “What is that thing? Friend of yours?” which, first, haha Bellamy joke, and second, YEAH WTF IS IT? IT’S BEEN FOUR SEASONS WHAT IS IT?

Clarke’s grumpy cat get out of the way face = A+ more content like this please.

I love that Miller was introduced as a surly Bellamy minion and the whole time he was gay and only Jarod Joseph knew.

“In case you didn’t notice, his people are already killing us. How many more of our people have to die until you realize we’re fighting a war?” Interesting because actually most of those people didn’t die at Grounder hands at all. Two died when the dropship landed. Wells died because another delinquent killed him. Charlotte committed suicide. Murphy, if he’s being counted among the ten, was exiled after a series of events having nothing to do with Grounders. Trina and Pascal, who I’m pretty sure are already dead, died of acid fog, which is a Mt. Men weapon (I know Bellamy doesn’t know this but we do). And the other three were killed by Grounders, fair enough. Plus Jasper and Finn’s injuries. But still, ten Grounder deaths there were not. Also none of them were killed or injured at the dropship camp, which fits in with my theory that this was never a dispute about territory or a case of mean colonialists stealing native people’s land. The dropship camp doesn’t bother the Grounders at all.

There’s a little American flag at the memorial to the culling victims. Also, here we see the exact moment when Kane’s redemption arc begins. And a continuation of Jaha’s… I don’t want to say ‘redemption’ but like…transformation?

Okay, that’s ridiculous to say the people in the culling died for nothing—it wasn’t nothing because there aren’t enough life boats NOW there definitely weren’t 320 people ago. I mean I understand why the populace is angry but, haha, little do they know that between the Unity Day attack, the Exodus ship explosion, and all but 3 stations either exploding, crashing, or getting lost on the way to Earth, there are many more population-reduction events to come. Oh yeah and then radiation comes in a ridiculous overwrought wave and kills them all in a terrific shark-jumping explosion of silliness.

More Ark life details: “I swore an oath to protect and defend these people.” There’s something called “station representatives”—the same or different than Council members? Also they have a “mess hall.”

The dropship is three stories. Did I think it was two? Clarke has amazing boots.

The torture sequence makes me intensely uncomfortable, which is of course obviously the point. Again, nothing that the show’s done in the last two seasons accomplishes this. They just…try so hard to be constantly shocking and tense but it reads poorly to me, it reads like overcompensating for having nothing more to say.

I don’t get the station representatives thing. First, they’re not the council. Diana Sydney is one of them. And also there are, what, like a hundred of them? Why so many? What do they do? Is this like a primarily administrative job? An advocacy job? The Ark’s not that big, direct communication with the council doesn’t seem like it would be that hard. Are these also elected positions? How many does each station have, and how big is each station that they need, like, 10 reps per station? Some of them are pretty young, too; is this like an every-sub-group-has-an-advocate thing? Diana refers to her people as “the workers,” which I always assumed meant she was a rep for one of the worker-stations, like maybe Factory, but maybe it means she literally, specifically, represents “workers.”

I want a prequel that’s just like the political rivalry between Jaha and Diana. Actually, I want a refund on Season 4 and for it to be replaced by this prequel.

Say what you will about Octavia, but Bellarke’s torture plan was stupid as fuck—yes, it makes sense on the level of a preschooler (a very violent preschooler) but anyone with real cognitive skills should honestly be 10000% distrustful of any answer Lincoln did give because, like, why would he tell you the truth? If I were him, I’d get the torture to stop by pointing out the wrong vial. I mean he has literally nothing to lose; they’ll kill him but they would have done that anyway, and at least he takes one of their own down too.

That said, I feel like the more they made Octavia violent, over the seasons, and played up her ridiculously unrealistic amazing warrior skills or whatever, the more they ignored how smart and resourceful she used to be.

Abby didn’t “turn Jake in” though—he hadn’t done anything wrong, there was nothing to turn him in for. Like don’t get me wrong I love Jaha, but HE’S the one who floated his friend for a non-crime, so maybe he should take some of the blame for that.

I love Kane’s mom. Honestly, they used to have such good minor/side characters and they threw them away so willy-nilly and I thought, okay, I get it, we need casualties and there will be more good side characters but frankly there haven’t been. The quality of side character has declined precipitously. I literally cannot remember the last time a new character was introduced that I gave an honest shit about. After S2, there’s been like…no one on the sidelines who holds any interest for me. Probably because they’re all Grounders.

Finn’s using Raven’s jacket as a pillow, which reminds me of Jasper using Monty’s jacket as a blanket.

Finn’s basically just this totem Clarke and Raven pass back and forth. They’re both under the impression they literally need him to keep going (“he’s all I have;” “I can’t do this without you”) but like, really, what does he bring to the table? Certainly no literal skills, but not even that much by way of emotional support or devotion—especially not to Raven, obviously. And Clarke’s known him all of a week so the concept that she needs him for anything is like, I can see why she herself thinks that (in a normal situation she and Finn would be in a honeymoon phase, plus she just lost Wells so like I can see how she’d latch on to someone else in a pinch)—but it’s still laughable.

I’ve seen that shot of Bellamy and Clarke’s hands touching a million times but totally forgot they were handing off a torture weapon. And that their dialogue can basically be summarized as “deep sounding shit we tell ourselves to excuse our guilt for the reprehensible things we’ve just done that had literally no actual justification whatsoever.” I mean, I’m not judging per se, the show needs conflict and also they’re basically fetuses so they should be imperfect but still. How romantic.

My characterization of Clarke, most of the time, is so bad. I feel bad about this.

I’m trying to get a better sense of the delinquent camp but it’s difficult.

It looks like there are only 6 Council members, which semi-confuses me because it just seems like it would make sense to have one representative per station. I don’t think they’d give Prison Station a council member, but counting the Chancellor, that would still make 12. But then—do all stations have living quarters on them? I’ve been assuming yes but why should I assume that? Go-Sci very well might not—nope, never mind, that’s the only part left and I bet we’ll be seeing living quarters on it next year (by “we” I mean probably not “me” but you know). Anyway. How are the Council members elected then? At large? Also, post-culling, post-100, there are 2,237 people on the Ark. And Jaha says there are “only enough dropships to carry 700.”

I can’t believe people still know what the Titanic is to be honest. And would reference it so casually.

[kinetic-elaboration]

February 9: Strange Fandom Space

I suck at sleeping at the right times in general but especially this week so I didn’t watch 4x02 until just now and I don’t have time to write up thoughts because like...work exists tomorrow unfortunately. I’m gonna just start indiscriminately closing order lines like whatever.

Wrote this earlier though so it’s kinda long but is not proof of me staying up late to ramble on tumblr I swear. Will write some sort of reaction tomorrow. Quick quick version: I liked 4x02 a lot. I’m quite pleased.

*

Yesterday when my mother was giving me her cryptic spoiler-free review of 4x02, I realized that the only couple whose canon status I'm waiting on is Bellarke. Like the only non-canon couple I both ship, and expect to be canon, is Bellarke. Which surprised me for some reason, though I don't know why. Maybe because I low-key ship so many people? I don't know, it probably shouldn't be a shock as I'm so out of step with the show romantic-pairing wise lol.  

(This came up because she said there was a romantic development I would like, and I guessed Kabby sex scene right away. We'd just been talking about Bellarke in a way that made me aware she wasn't talking about them, so I knew it had to be a development with an established couple. I don't have any not-quite-canon ships beyond Bellarke. And other convo had already made me aware it wasn't Miller/Bryan either. Thus the choices were really narrow.)

I just often feel like I’m in a totally different place re: thoughts/feelings on couples in the show, versus like the rest of fandom. And I think part of the reason for this is that I'm very used to using fandom to fill in gaps in canon. So, when the canon is giving me a couple, and giving me everything I want out of the couple, I lose a lot of interest in them, or at least a lot of fanon interest. I start enjoying the show (or whatever) in much the way that casuals do.

This plays into a larger theory of mine that I fall into fandoms particularly for the transformative aspects and thus don't get heavily invested in shows or other pieces of media that I'm perfectly content with—that fandom participation for me is basically a form of mixed adoration and criticism.  

This means that it's hard for me to understand a lot of things in, at least, this fandom, possibly current fandom trends more generally. For example, the focus on definitive truths, which includes expanding the sources from which definitive proof is found—for example, the idea that an interview could be canon. The more you accept as canon, and the more importance you give to canon, the less room there is for debate and interpretation because certain avenues are closed off even if there's nothing in the text to close them. Or the occasionally virulent hatred people receive if they question any aspect of the show, as if being a fan of something meant you cannot criticize it. Or even the weird way that people just like latch onto a random pairing because it's there and it's canon now and there's no room for saying a canon-ship doesn't make sense because it's canon lol so like you're obviously wrong. (Guess who isn't bitter about guess which mystery pairing.) (No one's ever said this to me I'm just bitter and paranoid.)

Or, perhaps most noticeably, the intense focus on whether or not something (usually a couple) will become canon. The derision fans receive if they like something not-yet canon. The ugly debates. The defensiveness (understandable given the derision though.) And just the investment in canon status.

On the one hand, as someone who's had a lot of non-canon OTPs I dearly wanted to become canon, I do get it. When you see all this evidence that A+B should be together, of course you want to see that come to fruition. Clearly. This happens to me a lot because  I (usually) need there to be some sort of canon-basis for a relationship in general to start shipping it. Very rarely do I ship people who've never interacted in canon, for example, and most of my big ships and OTPs are ones that I think should have been canon, given the evidence/foreshadowing.

But then on the other hand it's becoming pretty clear to me that, as I said, I lose interest in a couple in rough proportion to the degree that the couple is canon. Maybe it's because I've pretty much never gotten a canon ship before that I'm only realizing this now, but apparently when a Really Obvious Ship crosses the line from almost-there to actually-there, I start tuning out of the fandom.

For example, on The 100, I have followed along neutrally with some canon ships, like Finn/Clarke or Wick/Raven. (At some point I would have said I actually shipped Wick and Raven but...IDK fandom pretty much ruined that pairing for me and given that I didn't miss Wick when he was gone, I think in retrospect I was just having the sort of reaction a casual viewer would to it: I picked up the hints the story was giving me, enjoyed when they lead exactly where they were supposed to lead, but was never so invested that I focused on the couple in fanon or felt a loss in the show when they off-screen broke up). Even Lincoln/Octavia is probably in this category, as I enjoyed their relationship on the show, but never thought too deeply about it (because you can't, or it falls apart right away lol); I enjoy/ed them as a background couple in fics but have never sought out fic that features them as the main couple. That sort of thing.

I'd say I actively ship Jasper/Maya in the sense that I'm more-than-average invested in them, but again, the narrative gave me everything I wanted from that pairing so I very rarely spend any sort of fannish energy on them.

Miller/Bryan is a canon ship I actively ship (and have even written for) but they only had a handful of scenes in S3, we barely know Bryan's personality, etc. In other words, even though they're a canon couple, the narrative isn't/wasn't giving me everything I wanted about them, so fan works fill/ed the gap.

And Kane/Abby...they were never a big ship for me but I would say I pretty actively shipped them pre-S3. Now I passively ship them. I like them, I look forward to their scenes and their relationship developing, but a lot of my excited fandom feels just disappeared when they became canon.  

Even Bellarke is a little bit like this to me, only in the sense that I think it is super obvious they are going to be canon/endgame and I so trust the narrative on that point that I have no reason to ever think about their canon/not-canon status. It'll happen eventually. I'll enjoy it. But it really doesn't matter to me if it happens next week or next month or next season. Honestly, I really don't like feeling this way. I envy people who can get excited about their imminent canon-ness or even who can debate just how imminent it is. I just have no passion about it personally.

And...everyone else I ship on this show is very clearly in the Never Going to Be Canon category.  

I think there's sorta an argument to be made that canon Raven/Clarke could have been a thing... I mean IDK canon Cl*xa happened on less build up than Raven/Clarke had in S1 so I mean reasonable people can disagree I think... but not anymore. What with the damage in their relationship, the clear disinterest in the writers in developing even the friendship aspects, and the super bright signals that Bellarke is full steam ahead at this point, I don't see any room for R/C and in fact if they did veer off in that direction I'd be confused and annoyed even though I do ship them. Every other ship of mine is like...maybe if hell freezes over lol. In some cases, making a fanon-ship of mine canon would literally involve raising the dead but tbh even when both parties are still alive it's still just about as likely. And my point is that I'm okay with that.

I don't know what the overall point of any of this is except that being in this fandom is really making me re-evaluate the whole concept of fandom to me. What I want out of it, what other people seem to want out of it, and so on. My interest in the show itself is falling so low that sometimes I cannot fathom why I'm still in the fandom—I don't think I've ever felt like this about the source material before without actually leaving. I really thought S3 was bad, and I think S4 is better, so far, but if this were S1 I'd probably drift away before mid-season, it just doesn't match up with my interests very well. And yet I'm still here and I like being here, and it's because the core idea of the show, the universe, the first two seasons, the characters, and the stories I've put them in within my own head, are all so dear to me that I remain actively invested in something. It isn't the source material, isn't the community really (I'm an unknown that's all I mean, and I don't interact with people really bc I'm shy—this isn't an insult to the people in fandom). It isn't the fandom in the sense that stuff-that-concerns-the-fandom-as-a-whole doesn't concern me. And yet, for whatever reason, I'm still here. My very niche fandom interests keep me around. And it's just so bizarro to me.