#monument valley fanfic

[our-future-is-up-to-us-2]

Ida: One More Wouldn’t Hurt

Summary: 

Foolish Princess, have you forgotten too?

Or, Princess Ida and her journey through Monument Number 8, The Box. 

--

Foolish Princess, have you forgotten too?

Princess Ida of Monument Valley had never felt so pressured in her life. Her journey had started as a simple one, navigating the geometric world around her step by step until someone got in the way.

Her angelic, ghostly voice and figure reminded her of all times past, plunging distress and guilt into her heart.

The Storyteller.

Nevertheless, she knew what her objective was (and she probably wouldn’t have known if it weren’t for the ghost in question) since she was overcome by greed long before she knew what to do with it. All this chatter about Sacred Geometry and monuments did her head in, but it was all she had ever known, all she had to work with. Her mistakes had led to the crumbling of Monument Valley, but she clenched her fists and shook her head, approaching the newest Monument.

The Box: In Which There Lie Strange Delights.

Her little feet had been walking on end through countless caverns and tricks of the mind. She could just… Stop. Let everything wither. Seven of the ten beauties of their valley had already been restored, here was a soft place to land…

Ida’s eyes darted around the space, a blue room with two doors and a button- It was one way or the other, with no true way out, so it seemed.

The Princess took a deep breath.

I suppose one more monument wouldn’t hurt.

And so, she embarked on the journey once more, only having her wayward senses to guide her along with the intricate surroundings and subtle idiosyncrasies of these worlds.

She closed her eyes after passing through three of the rooms, noticing that she could no longer move in place. So, she waited for something else to happen, for another the last of the Box’s pillar lights to shine…

And not long after, it did, spreading its effervescent purple, before she felt the ground shift beneath her, plunging her into a different place:

Geometrical claustrophobia.

If those two words really fitted in a sentence together, that would explain Ida’s panting breaths, the rush of adrenaline mixed with fear, left powerless behind a door- Faint tinkling filtered from outside, something akin to a musical box, and birds, and chimes… It was as if the world was opening up for her.

The princess took another deep breath, lingering before being launched into the space and all its openness without a second thought- Hardly processing where she was, she placed her hands on her head to steady her hat, monuments and all, before walking on forward. The platforms in front were all a muted beige, the lit-up pillars from before shining the way about her, standing tall in their grandeur. Ida simply had a task, and when she caught sight of the button that lay below some winding steps, she knew she had to go-

Until something else caught her eye.

Again, geometric in shape, causing her to furrow her brows. It was as if the Storyteller was taunting her now, with simple rhetorical questions that made her do nothing but doubt. Ida only had to look further, draw closer, to what seemed impossible in this world. Magnificence that existed beyond those grand statues that she had once pilfered in her greed. Something that felt remarkably delicate and dainty in its own way, like it was captured in time. Glimmering water, housing a collection of orange goldfish, swaying to and fro in a cubical tank. Her eyes darted from the button on the floor, her latest objective, to the minimal glass by her side… Until she found herself with her hands pressed against it, close to the tank, her breaths a mixture of sighs and excited pants, those eyes that were once contemplative, now awestruck.  

The display was nothing more than a few simple, natural fish, and the cyan-coloured waters that they inhabited, but Ida had never felt more at peace. She supposed it was helpful to stop and smell the roses (or perhaps, stop and admire the fish) every once in a while, to indulge, and take a step back from the weight behind her tasks.

Ida could still see the button out of the corner of her eye.

Instead, she shook her head, and spent an indecipherable amount of time with the creatures, not doing much more than watching them, and considering their lives. Not just her own.

A lurch in her stomach, a nagging feeling eventually consumed her, and the princess drew back from the glass.

“Hello, little fish.” She whispered softly, her gaze lingering one last time, before she adjusted her hat, straightened her pristine white dress, and fled.

[pterrorgrine]

i could interpret this a lot of ways but i'm going with harry potter x half-life 2 just so i can cast the wizards as the combine and reinterpret the whole thing as the "avada kedavra, meet avtomat kalishnikova" greentext

combine your first real fandom with your current one to create a terrible, terrible au

[liberaquantobasta]

Third chapter of my Fanfic "The Ceiling Above Us".

Lavellan is still lost in the memories.

[Chapter 1] - [Chapter 2]

The Ceiling Above Us 

3. We Can Go Back

As she falls to the ground, she feels her head hurt like it's splitting open. Perhaps she is about to die.

Instead, with a gasp, she finds herself in the streets of Arlathan. The Lyrium buildings gleam in the sun, and a light breeze ruffles her hair. The sky is blue again, and nothing seems to disturb the serenity of the city's inhabitants, dressed in elegant and carefully embroidered robes, walking with their noses in the air, admiring the dizzying peaks of the monuments.

Without noticing, she reached a square. In front of her stands the most majestic palace of all. Through the huge stained glass windows, she glimpses Evanuris feasting and dancing with one another, she hears the happy, light-hearted voices bouncing off the soaring ceilings decorated with glittering lyrium mosaics. 

In the centre of the square is a fountain from which gushes crystal clear, pure, transparent water. She wants to drink it. She moves closer to admire the rays of sunlight playing with the shimmering water, painting it with unique, brilliant colours. But when she lowers her eyes, she can not see her reflection. 

Fear grips her.

The water turns blood red and begins to spill from the stone, rushing through the streets. 

The mountains below shift, rattling and shaking the air. Buildings collapse in a cloud of dust and screams. Ainur'Len tries to get to safety, desperate screams wrapping around her like a cold blanket. Exhausted, she surrenders to the power of the water and closes her eyes. 

She sees Solas leading an army of elves and spirits. The mountains move, crush them, swallow them up in huge caverns that collapse on themselves.

She sees his soldiers, his friends, fall.

She watches as Solas hands Mythal a lyrium dagger, as she has asked him to do. His eyes are filled with despair at the horror they are about to unleash. She hears him warning his friend of the dangers, begging her to listen to his wisdom. Mythal grabs her weapon and puts a hand to his face, then she turns away from him, and in an instant the mountains fall silent, one by one. A deafening stillness fills the valley. Unnatural. Terrifying. 

"The Titans will no longer be a threat to our people."

Ainur'Len opens her eyes and finds herself inside the building she had been admiring from the outside just a few moments before. It is night. Solas faces the towering window, from which he can see the vast horizon, spirits swirling in the air and wild creatures moving in packs.

Mythal glances into the room and stops when she sees the elf standing there, lost in thought.

"I knew I would find you here," she smiles, approaching him. Solas looks at her with eyes full of sorrow, veiled by a weariness he can only now allow himself.

"Mythal..." he whispers, bringing his gaze back to the glass window. "What have we done? "

"We did what was necessary.  You have served our people well, Solas."

"You cannot possibly think there will be no consequences. The severed dreams of the Titans are sealed, but you saw what happened. What if this corruption is released one day?"

"Whatever happens, my friend, I know you will be by my side to face it." Mythal takes his face in her hands and rests her forehead on his companion's. Solas closes his eyes and his body relaxes. He looks exhausted. His shoulders hunch slightly forward, carried by the long sigh that clears his lungs. Mythal's lips rest on the Vallaslin that adorns Solas's forehead. They linger in that loving kiss, hearing only the sound of their breathing.

"I still need you," whispers the ancient elf, pulling away slightly and looking into her friend's eyes with a smile. Solas caresses her hand, kissing her fingers gently before pulling it away from his face.

"Now that the war is over and our people are safe, we can finally be who we were. Even in this physical form."

He looks for the same longing in Mythal's eyes, but does not find it. She lowers her gaze and slowly shakes her head. Solas squeezes her friend's hand tighter, trying desperately to meet her eyes again, hoping to find in them what she had promised him.

"Elgar'nan has no intention of leaving command, Solas," she whispers. She looks up into Solas's face, devastated. He stands in shock.

"But Elvhenan..."

"...is the Empire our people deserve."

"No. We are no better than the servants who polish Elgar'nan's shoes. We can be free," he tries to shake her, to make her keep her promise. "We can go back and live the Fade together. Even in this form."

"I fear our brother will not be persuaded. But if we stand with him, we can lead our people with Justice and Wisdom."

He lets go of Mythal's fingers and takes a step back. His expression is one of disbelief, of pain. 

"Mythal, please," his voice betrays the tremor that has shaken his heart.

"Tonight I will speak to Elgar'nan, love. But you know what my spirit asks." A hope. It's enough for him. He smiles uncertainly, his eyes filled with trust in her.

Mythal nods to the door behind him. Festive music emanates from the lower levels. 

"Now come with me. Let us join our brothers in celebrating this victory. You deserve a little lightness," she smiles.  "Treat your body to a night with someone, perhaps a beautiful golden-haired maiden or a charming green-eyed boy. I know you enjoy it. You need it." 

Solas takes a step towards her, somewhat tempted to follow her advice, but his face is too tired and worn from the battles with the Titans. Perhaps also from the worry of seeing Mythal break her promises.

"You go, I shall join you later," he sighs, smiling faintly. "I need to rest now." 

Mythal simply nods. Never losing contact with his companion's blue irises, she leaves the room, granting his wish to be alone. 

The scene stands still for a few moments. Ainur'Len approaches Solas and touches his face. This time she can feel the soft elf skin on her fingers. He cannot see her, crystallised in this memory. 

"I'm so sorry, Solas," she whispers, her voice broken. "If I had only known..." she feels a sudden anger stain the blood in her veins. 

"It's terrible what they did to you," she continues, not stopping to stare into those sad eyes. "They tore you from the Fade and threw you into war. Your spirit. It broke."

As she swallows back the tears that threaten to cross the threshold of her eyelashes, a terrible awareness of what she has just seen begins to take hold of her. She has just witnessed the greatest crime in centuries. The severing of the dreams of the Titans. The murder of the dwarves' dreams. The rise of the Blight, perhaps?

She turns her angry gaze to Mythal, who stands still in the doorway. The mother of all elves, she read in the books she loved to lose herself in. She takes wide strides towards Mythal, her hands tingling with the urge to hit her. But she freezes when she sees the goddess's face come to life and fix its icy gaze on her. 

Ainur'Len freezes in disbelief. Those eyes search her curiously, then light up so brightly they blind her for a moment. 

[clearlynotjanus]

[leans into the mic hesitatingly. a loud screech of feedback is heard as i try to speak]

uhhhh hello? anyone still......here? hard to see the audience past the stage lights, you know how it is.

i haven't thought about this fandom in over a year. while writing my last loceit fic, i got very overwhelmed with how bogged down with terminology & lore & my general wordy writing style that i burned out of finishing the last chapter. at the same time, my partner & i rediscovered another anime...& when our hyperfixation there ended, we got into ffxiv... then bg3... & now dragon age... i've always disliked that about myself. never able to stay in one place long enough to feel like i've left an impact or had done anything interesting.

but i got the kindest comment of my ao3 history the other day on that abandoned loceit fic & i've been ruminating on it since. the person talked about how, despite it not being finished, they still thought about it at least once a month & came back to read it with excitement from time to time. i thought of all the fics i do the same with & compared myself to them... ofc there's a lot to be said about not treating fanfic authors or "fandom famous" people differently than anyone else, because online numbers are fake & all that, but there's an undeniable admiration, i think, we all have for people with "large accounts" or high kudos counts or exceptional artistic talent that we feel we don't compare to. i thought of myself in that lens for a moment, as someone who wrote something impactful enough to leave that lasting of a mark & it made me so happy. i felt fulfilled by it.

writing has always been my one talent, i've always thought it was the only thing i was destined to be good at. my opinion of my writing has hit peaks & valleys in my life of course, we all go through self doubt & ego issues, but at the end of the day, writing has been the one constant about myself. the one thing i've always wanted to challenge myself with, the one thing i could go back to, if nothing else. home.

with the current state of my country (america, unfortunately) i've started to think that my fantasies of writing anything "worth" reading are futile. it seems insignificant in the grand scheme, to create art when the world is ending. i never dreamed about any aspiration in my own lifetime. i've always wanted to leave something behind worth analyzing. worth talking about. worth exploring. sitting in various liberal arts classes in my life, i always daydreamed about one of my stories being the subject matter someday. long after i was dead. it's dismal to think that it might not be my own inability to create something worthy that prevents that daydream from coming into fruition.

every other queer person is rallying. they're brave for it but i can't bring myself to join the movement. not that anything i say or do will be monumental of course, but no one knows how big of a thing is going to come out of this. the little people might be caught up in it too. someday soon, sites like ao3 & tumblr may be gone, or at least inaccessible for americans. & that's terrifying. so i think of the person who left that lovely, inspiring comment on a fic i hadn't thought about in over a year, instead. because even if i never accomplished any of my bigger goals with my writing, i did, at least, leave a little bit of an impact & that has to be enough.

i want to say that i'll finish that fic in honor of all this. it feels right to say that, but with everything going on, i don't know if it would be the truth. i have a commission currently, & i've buried my head in the dragon age sands for now. i want to. i reread the whole fic & my notes from it for the last part & it's good. it's better than i remember it being, & i want to finish it. but as most of you have realized by now, i'm very bad with promises lmao

i do miss this fandom though, everything else aside (asides lmao) i had some good friends here before i burnt out & burned my bridges about it. i'm sorry for that. i hope everyone here has been doing better than me at least

[sagaofadyingstar-thesequel]

I think it’s time for an actual intro post. Let’s do this.

You can call me Ghost, I'm some random teenager who gets really obsessed with things I like.

I use she/they and I'm a minor. Anything else is under the cut

Basic Things Ab Me

Aceflux + Omniromantic

Probs have undiagnosed something (so specific I know)

My brain is weird a lot of the time so that's fun

I'm not amazing at talking to people all the time so bear with me

If Im tagged in something it will probably take at least a month for me to interact Im sorry

Hobbies

Reading

Drawing/painting/general art-ness

Writing (poems, fanfics, original stories)

Dancing (ballet, pointe, broadway, jazz)

Biking

Working out/going to the gym/idk how to phrase this????

Crochet

Making bracelets (and wearing a lot of them)

Baking

The Great Interests Lists

The Big Obsession-ness-es

Murder Drones -show

Osemanverse -books and a show

Riordanverse -books and a show

Lockwood & Co -books and a show

Divergent -books and movies

The Hunger Games -books and movies

The Owl House -show

Nimona -movie

Gravity Falls -show

Agatha All Along -show

Musicals

Wicked

SIX

Heathers

Hamilton

The Greatest Showman

Mean Girls

Music

Maisie Peters

MARINA

Lorde

Conan Gray

Taylor Swift

Chappell Roan

Baby Queen

The Crane Wives

Pale Waves

Lizzy McAlpine

girl in red

Various Things

Cold weather

Pretty sunsets

Collecting soda tabs

This fun lil game called Monument Valley

Mindlessly scrolling tumblr and pinterest

Comfy sweaters

Combat boots

Here's my Spotify bc why not

And finally, the list of some people who I think are really cool and all that: @apuff @mybedroomceilingsbored @sad-girl-shit11 @nyyx-xoxx @totalcharliespringsimp

@my-mind-is-frozen @idontwanttobeabuzzkill @unstableunicornsofasgard @wistfulenchantress

@daydream-of-a-wallflower @babyqueenfangirl @a-dam-heartstopper-fan @atom1o6 @galaxys-universe

@you-know-that-i-caught-it @aidens-ocean-galaxy @dragonerd8224 @not-a-gay-fangirl

@lalouse @my-own-personal-hell

[onemorecupofcoffee]

just randomly remembered i wrote Monument valley fanfic

[fan-ficing-tastic]

Thiam Author Recommendation!

I honestly should have added this author to my starter kit, but I’m an idiot so... I’m -uh- doing that now... 

I made a Thiam (teen wolf) fanfic recommendation starter kit that you can find: here

If you want to ask me anything, or recommend anything to me ( which I always appreciate) : ask/recommend here 

I featured one of these fics, so if you want to see my personal notes and get more info on it check that out: here 

I want to recommend the author: eneiryu

If you haven't read their stuff you need to! I have multiple fics of their’s saved in my bookmarks because honestly AMAZING! 

They have over 60 teen wolf fanfics written, which is amazing! ( I have not read all of them but honestly, you probably should!) 

Now for my personal favorites of the Thiam fics they have written!!!! 

between the mountains and the valley we built a monument to our regret

Author’s summary: Honestly, this right here is why Theo has always considered friendships more trouble than they’re worth.

Status: Complete             Chapters: 4/4            Words: 60,967

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i know all sorts of things i don't believe

Author’s summary: So, anyway. That’s how Theo becomes pack-mom to Scott’s merry band of supernatural misfits.

Status: Complete             Chapters: 3/3         Words: 80,819

This is the first installment of a series that you can find: here

**** I have read everything on this list and they are all amazing! 

You can also find some other fics they have written related to this one: here

***** didn’t even know that this list existed ‘till now and now I’m excited, but since I would literally recommend anything they write, I’m adding it so you don’t have to go on an exploratory mission!

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

the lanterns were lit but they didn’t lead home

Author’s summary: Not that anyone is interested in his opinion, but Theo honestly may have preferred homelessness to enforced cohabitation with Liam.

Status: Complete             Chapters: 1/1         Words: 51,810

Part of a series that you can find: here

[starflake-burning]

I have essays to catch up on, but I also have so many fanfics I want to be writing. Here’s my tentative update schedule:

Last chapter of Mistakes Were Made (tntduo familiar au)

Outline the last 10 chapters of Fatal Examinations (dsmp ensemble alien au)

Write one of my SBI oneshots that I’ve been collecting ideas for 

Outline unnamed Last Life lifeguard au

Outline Springtime Blues (mumscarian roommate au)

And here’s a look into my ideas docs:

SBI Monument valley au

SBI lost city of Atlantis au

SBI dystopia/expirimental superhuman au

SBI royalty/assassin au 

Doc modern with magic scientist au

archeologist!Martyn meeting the red king’s ghost

Feel free to ask me questions about anything on these lists! 

[pokeprism]

Pokemon Found Family: Chapter 4 (Before The Storm)

This is the fourth chapter of Pokemon Found Family, my pokemon fanfic!

I’m always up for questions!

First --- Previous --- Next

Jane has just gotten to sleep after two hours of tossing and turning in her bed. She has not been sleeping well for the past two days on account of seeing Hill Stoutland. To get her mind off of things, she had thought of her best friend and their times together. Soon into her slumber, she’s reliving a memory from her preteen years.

It’s about sundown as she’s looking at the sky from her room’s balcony, and she remembers it’s one of those nights. Her biweekly escape from the palace had become normal enough that she was planning these meetings weeks before in conjunction with her best and only friend, Jirachi. The palace itself was cold, hard, and painful for Jane on account of her parents' abuse. But where she was going, no one could harm her, for she was primed for a night with Jirachi, who could do no wrong and had only joy to offer. Jane’s ears twitch at the sound of her parents’ door closing for the night. That’s her cue to slip away, she remembers. With cat-like reflexes, she jumps onto the guard rail of the balcony, then looks down to scan for anyone near her landing location, and no one is there. Unknown to anyone at the Furton Palace besides herself, the deep pool in the gardens below Jane’s balcony was the perfect location to escape the palace from, due to the depth and the only risk being someone hearing the splash, which hadn’t happened yet. Jane winds up for a leap, then gracefully bounds off the balcony’s guardrail without making a sound. It’s a quick three second fall before Jane hits the water, and after getting out of the pool and shaking herself dry, she runs out of the palace’s courtyard toward Jirachi’s abode, the peak of Steorra Mountain. Some walking later, Jane has made it to the foot of Jirachi’s stone shrine. Jane clears her throat, then recites the wish melody from memory. Jane had remembered the melody well, for it was the only way to wake her friend and gain access to Jirachi’s home that lay beneath the shrine. Once the melody comes to an end, the entrance to her friend’s home flips open, and Jane gently hops into the entrance. Jane touches down in Jirachi’s home, and in their usual freshly awoken tone, Jirachi speaks as they psychically close the hatch to their home.

Jirachi yawns before saying “Hi there Jane! How are you doing tonight?”

Jane had almost forgotten the sound of her voice at that age. “I’m doing great, Snooze! Do you remember our plan for tonight?”

“Hmm? Which plan?” Jirachi says.

Past Jane laughs for a moment. “Snooze! You’re so forgetful! We were going to go to the bakery and wish for a round of poffins tonight, right?”

“Oh, yeah. We can do that in a bit, but…”

“What’s the but about?”

“Jane, can I talk to you for a moment?”

With that utterance, Jane remembers this talk. Past Jane nods to Jirachi.

Jirachi begins to tremble. “I’m scared, Jane.”

Past Jane tilts their head. “About what?”

“I’m scared for you. Of what your parents would do if they found out.”

“About what? The part where I leave every other week or about you?”

“Both. If they find that you’ve been leaving the palace, that’s one reason to hurt you. If they find that you’ve been seeing another pokemon, that’s two. But if that’s not enough, if they find that pokemon is me, everyone is in trouble.”

Past Jane’s ears droop. “W-Why’s that Snooze?”

“Jane, I know you know me as your quirky, drowsy, and semi-forgetful best friend but… I’m the mythical wish pokemon. If some bad seed caught and compelled me to use my power, they could potentially end the world.”

The words echo through Jane’s mind. Past Jane is struck with emotion, but manages to keep it under wraps while saying “Jirachi, as long as we’re together, I WILL keep you safe.”

Jirachi, for their part, starts to laugh as their tears begin to flow. “Ha ha… I guess I really am a crybaby… Oh well.”

Jirachi drifts close to Jane, and they share a close embrace. Jane’s vision of the memory begins to fade to black as her emotions attached to that memory come rushing back. Suddenly, a shout breaks the quiet.

“Jane! Are you okay?”

Jane suddenly snaps awake. She sees Geist standing in front of her with a concerned expression on his face. As Jane gets up, she feels tears run down her face. Geist crouches down to her level and wipes the waterworks from her cheeks as he gets a determined look on his face.

“Jane, did you have a bad dream?” Geist asks.

“No, just reliving a memory of mine.”

“I thought you were asleep, but then I heard you crying at a decent volume. Was it… A bad memory?”

Jane shakes her head. “No no, it was a good memory. I guess I started being a crybaby about it…”

Geist puts a hand to his face. “Jane, do I need to tell you that expressing your emotions isn’t a bad thing?”

“You don’t.” Jane plainly says.

“Okay then. I’m assuming that you’d rather not talk about that memory then?”

“I’m not against it.”

Geist’s mind fumbles for a moment before saying “If it’s heavy on emotional baggage, don’t feel obligated to tell me, alright?”

Jane nods in response. “Uh huh.”

“In other news, I was wondering if you’d like to curate the temple with me today. Are you feeling up to that?” Geist asks.

Jane’s whole body perks up. “Oh! Sure Geist!”

Geist’s trademark smile returns. “Alrighty then. Should I carry you?”

Jane nods at the request.

Geist picks up Jane in his arms, then walks out of his home’s entrance. Once on the cliffside walkway, Geist tightens his grip on Jane as he winds for a jump, and within a moment, Geist bounds off the walkway and jets toward the ground. Upon landing without issue at the bottom, Geist releases Jane from his grip, and after Jane safely lands on the floor, they begin walking to Cyrus’s Temple.

Jane and Geist are at the bottom of the walkway to the temple after the short trek from the other side of the valley. Geist walks up the steps to the temple’s front entrance with Jane close behind him. Despite Cyrus’s temple being the first structure she saw in the valley, she had not gotten a satisfactory look at it before this point on account of being in critical condition at the time of her arrival. As a result of this, Jane begins looking at the monument’s details, the carvings on the walls, ceiling, and floor.

Geist, curious, asks “Hey, do you know much about the valley’s champion, Jane?”

Jane looks up to Geist. “Not much at all really.”

“Well, what DO you know?”

“I think I met Cyrus in a dream. He didn’t tell me much, but I haven’t talked with him since.”

Geist, thanks to his ghostly nature, feels the presence of Cyrus’s spirit behind him. Ignoring his discomfort, he says “Ha ha, that’s…”

Jane’s head tilts with a hint of confusion.

Geist forces his words. “That’s actually really odd for non curators.”

Jane quickly blinks twice. “Oh? Why is that?”

“Well, I don’t understand the exact mechanics, but I do know that a sort of link forms between curator and champion once the valley’s curator is selected, and-”

Jane looks up past Geist’s eyes. Geist’s body tingles with fear as he slowly turns around. Cyrus’s ghostly outline materializes as he loudly clears his throat.

“Ahem, good afternoon, Geist. You as well, Jane.” Cyrus says.

Geist’s smile quivers. “Heh heh, nice to see you again! It’s… Been a while. And I’ve got questions.”

Jane tilts her head. “I guess I would say the same.”

Cyrus turns to Geist. “Alright, go ahead with the questions then.”

Geist speaks first. “So, why did you contact Jane?”

Jane’s ears perk up as her confused expression says all that it can.

Cyrus notices Jane’s non verbal message first. “Ah. Jane, is it fine if I share the identity of your best friend?”

Geist raises an eyebrow as Jane turns in the gengar’s direction. Jane’s tail twitches as she looks back to Cyrus. “Sure, go ahead. I trust Geist.”

Cyrus nods. “Alright then.” Cyrus shifts his gaze to Geist. “Anyways, Jane made a friend in Jirachi, and her aura clued me into that.”

Geist’s eyes widen. “Oh! So you thought she had a mission then, huh?”

“Indeed. But then morning approached, and you two had registration to do.”

Geist and Jane nervously grin at the memory of that day.

Cyrus then makes eye contact with Jane, and breaks the silence by adding “In other regards, I’ve updated Jirachi on the status of Hill’s gathered data on you.”

Jane’s gaze snaps to Cyrus, and surprise shows in her voice. “Wait, you can do that?! Have they messaged you back…?”

“So far, Jirachi has relayed their concerns to me, but is confident that you will escape safely.”

Geist looks toward Cyrus. “Wait a hot minute, escape? Why would Jane want to escape here?” Geist asks.

Cyrus raises an eyebrow as he turns to Geist. Upon seeing Geist’s face, Cyrus realizes his mistake. “Well… Jane will be in an unfortunate position if she stays here with you.”

Geist’s eyes narrow, and Geist puts on a no-nonsense expression. “What do you mean, Cyrus?”

Geist is gazing into Cyrus’s very soul with his current gaze. Cyrus’s expression droops as he breathes a sigh of regret.

“I mean that Jane will be in danger tomorrow. Hill’s elite knights will be here, and they wish to capture her by any means necessary.”

Jane looks down, with her whole system paralyzed with conflicting emotions. The sun begins to set, and Cyrus’s ghostly form becomes more visible. Geist, much like Jane, has his emotions warring in his mind as he looks away. Geist’s gaze snaps back to Cyrus as the pyroar finds his place to speak.

“Geist, I sense that you would rather not leave on account of your trauma, but then... That would be against your desire to protect Jane, would it not?”

Geist’s eyes narrow once more. “Why do you bring THAT up, Cyrus? That sounds pretty bad form to me.”

Jane gets a determined glimmer in her eye. She dutifully steps forward as she says “If he’s talked with Jirachi at all, Cyrus knows I’m not without trauma.”

Geist eyes widen in response. Geist looks to Cyrus with a raised eyebrow. Cyrus knowingly nods.

Jane continues with “The reason I’m here is because Jirachi granted my wish of wanting to escape. So they obliged. But now with Hill’s knights coming for me, I don’t know if I can stay here…”

A brief silence returns.

Cyrus’s head droops as he looks away. “I have made you both conflicted, have I not?”

“Cyrus, don’t be daft. You’ve done your best to inform us.” Jane says.

Cyrus sighs just before his response. “Fair enough…”

Geist gets a determined look on his face. “I want to go with Jane. Is there anyone else we can warn?”

Cyrus stands on all fours. “Well, I would suggest telling Moshe. Is he awake at this hour?”

“I mean, probably.” Geist turns to Jane. “Let’s get to it, Jane!”

Jane nods, then turns to Cyrus. “I believe this is goodbye, correct?”

Cyrus nods. “I would think so, Miss Jane.”

Geist begins to leave the temple, but then stops as Cyrus speaks again. Jane tunes in out of habit.

“Due to my state of being, I only know what is happening, rather than what will happen. All I know is that Jirachi wishes you both well. Safe travels, you both.”

Jane and Geist practically nod in unison. Geist waves farewell to Cyrus before turning back toward the front entrance of the temple. They both then shuffle out of Cyrus’s temple with sights set on Moshe’s home, their goal crystal clear.

[missanthropicprinciple]

Favorite Media

I was tagged by the enchanting @perniciouslizard Their post is here.

Rules: Repost, don’t reblog. Link to the post of whoever tagged you. You can pick any categories you like - feel free to add new categories as well. Tag anyone you’d like to!

Tagging: @notwiselybuttoowell @starbug1988 @owmyeyeballs @thegroovyarchives @coffin-dwelling-tramp @a-worthy-mystery @fr0styfingers @clarakeanen @dollsome-does-tumblr @sharky857 @nateobite @comepraisetheinfanta

  Movie - Live Action

Flight of the Navigator

Local Hero

The Petrified Forest

Star Wars (original trilogy)

Movie - 2D Animated

Aladdin

The Little Mermaid

All Dogs Go To Heaven

My Neighbor Totoro

Movie - CG Animated

Zootopia

Toy Story

Bug’s Life

Wall-E

Movie - Claymation/Stop Motion

Chicken Run

Wallace and Gromit - Curse of the Were-Rabbit

A Nightmare Before Christmas  

Game (As I’m not a big gamer and don’t have enough time to get into I’m not subcategorizing them into story and gameplay but you can if you want)

TETRIS

Monument Valley 1 and 2 

Animal Crossing Pocket Camp

Podcast

Doctor Who: The Naked Scarf (I haven’t listened to this in years)I need recs for podcasts about houseplants, science, literature, etc.

Manga

Cardcaptor Sakura

Chobits

Anime

Cardcaptor Sakura

Gall Force

Pokemon

Digimon

TV Series - Live Action

The Good Life (1975-8)

Granada Holmes

Raffles 

Red Dwarf

3rd Rock from the Sun

Poirot 

Cartoon

Captain Simian and the Space Monkeys

Darkwing Duck

Adventure Time

Extreme Ghostbusters

Fictional Literature:

The Time Machine 

Dracula

The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe

Webcomic

adamtots

blackysan (upcoming space travel themed comic)

sad animal facts

strange plant

pet_foolery

Fanfic

Interrupt by Sky_Full_of_Dragons

vampire kiss - cypress-tree

too many to list, bro

Streams (?) 

I’m not on Twitch or anything so IDK.

[our-future-is-up-to-us-2]

The Fish In Our Lives - Masterlist

Hello everyone!!  Normally, I would be posting on AO3, but my school has gone ahead and blocked AO3 for me... So that’s great! I haven’t written in a while, and with a new hyperfixation on Detroit: Become Human, and my ongoing love for the mobile game, Monument Valley, I thought, why not write a self-indulgent fic that incorporates both? 

So, here we are. 

Enjoy this two-chapter fic! All feedback, likes and reblogs are welcome <3

Summary:  The elevator ascended into a world of chaos, and Connor, the android sent by CyberLife, was ready to take action. 

-- Foolish Princess, have you forgotten too? 

Or, two completely different worlds, brought together by one human experience. 

Chapters:  1 - Connor: The Choice Is Mine 

2 - Ida: One More Wouldn’t Hurt 

[beaxmartin-blog]

🍸 🍷 🍹 ☕️

send me 🍷 for an aesthetic of our muses

raspberries left in the sink, kentucky bucks in crystal glasses on marble countertops, getting yelled at by security guards in louis vuitton, cherry blossoms, waiting for something that will not happen, staying up until midnight on new year’s eve, ponds filled with massive, lazy koi, candy floss getting stuck in your teeth, lifetime movies playing on a loop

send me 🍹 for a short fanfic / headcanon of our muses

since she was a child, across continents and in many different bedrooms, bea has had a tattered, fading poster of monument valley in utah on her wall. ( it was on the wall of her bedroom when she lived with elliot, and it’s on her bedroom wall in the rank house, though she frequently gets asked on twitter what’s supposed to be on it because it’s so worn now ). her father ( a lifelong bostonian with no knowledge of anything outside of massachusetts until he moved to washington dc to become a rabblerouser, and consequently met his future wife and started working at the washington post ) used to tell her stories about the sweeping cliffs and red sand and a time before it was all so fucked up, and the poster was his when he was younger, the only remainder, besides memory, of a trip he took with school friends who he later tragically lost. she grew up romanticising high places, perhaps because she spent so much time in them, but she’s never managed to make it to the tall place that stole a part of her father’s heart. bea was going to go with rhett. they made late night plans for hikes and tents and stargazing ( that’s another thing bea has never seen properly, the stars ), and were meant to go camping in the angeles national forest for a weekend in preparation. every plan they made fell apart, somehow. she contemplates letting the poster finally fall apart too. 

send me ☕️ for a mini playlist of our muses

i made a mess of my heart again.a playlist for two ‘ friends ’

theme: love. ( kendrick lamar ft. zacari )�� i'd rather you trust me than to love me ” 

ii. odd look ( the weeknd &. kavinsky )“ do you feel like you'll come back around ? / does it make you strong ? / do you feel like you can take the planet on ? ”

iii. sober ii / melodrama ( lorde )“ god, i wonder why we bother / all the glamour and the trauma and the fuckin' melodrama ”

iv. drop the game ( flume &. chet faker )“ give me things that i wanted to know / tell me things that you've done ”

v. trainwreck ( banks )“ shot down by a guy i never wanted to kiss / and i can hear the singing of his ringing triumphing / and i'm chugging along in a train / and i'm heading the wrong way and i'm a trainwreck ”

vi. needed me ( rihanna )“ didn't they tell you that i was a savage? / fuck your white horse and a carriage ”

[natsora]

Yet another Tag Time!

Tagged by @rawliverandcigarettes ! Thank you for tagging. xD

RULES: answer 30 questions and tag 10 blogs you are contractually obligated to know

I won’t be tagging 10 blogs, I’ll tag my usual 3 instead. @blueteaparty , @littlebutfiery and @vorchagirl​

Nicknames: Ju for one or two friends, that’s a shortened version of my already short name, Aljunied by one of my friend’s mother, because she thinks its funny. It’s not. Natsora is not already a nickname but that and nat_sora are the common username I use almost everywhere. 

Gender/pronouns: She/Her

Star sign: Gemini

Height: 1.6m that’s 5″3

Time: 9.14PM (GMT+8)

Birthday: May 12th

Favorite bands: There are two main genres I listen to. Jpop and Alternative/folk. Japanese bands are Greeeen, RADWIMPS, Mrs Green Apple, LAMP IN TERREN to name a few. Alternative / Folk bands are Mumfords and Sons, Death Cab for Cutie, Kodaline and others. 

Favorite solo artist:  Motohira Hata (Japanese)  and Adele (who doesn't love her?)

Song stuck in your head: High hopes by Kodaline. 

Last movie you watched?: The last one was maybe a year ago? But I’m watching the Last Jedi tomorrow. 

Last show?: Stranger Things season 2. Before that Orphan Black! Please watch if you haven’t. It one of my all-time favourites. 

Why did you create your blog?: I initially started it as a way to share my story with more people. Then it morphed into full-on Mass Effect, Dragon Age love.

What do you post?: I reblog a lot of Mass Effect, Dragon Age stuff and awesome art. Also, art that I’ve commissioned and my story. 

Last thing you googled?: 1.6m in feet and inches. Boring I know. 

Other blogs: Althaven.com. That’s a fountain pen and related products review site. As of now, I think it’s the only regularly updated review blog in Singapore. 

AO3: Natsora

Do you get asks?: Not really. Just a few here and there. 

How did you get the idea for your URL?: It’s one of those names that I can get across multiple platforms. I always like the name Nat. No, it’s not short for anything. And my real name isn’t Nat either. Sora is well, sky in Japanese. I like the way it sounded so why not tag them together?

Followers: 76, I have got a whole bunch of new followers recently. No idea why. 

I follow: Way more than 76. It’s 180 now.

Average hours of sleep: According to my sleep tracker, it’s almost 7 hours. My average was much better before until I found fanfic.  

Lucky number: 12, not lucky per se but more like my favourite number. 12 in Japanese sounds like my English name. It’s my number in class when I was in school too. I just have a great affinity for that number. 

Instruments: Guitar, if you can even count that. I can’t even do bar chords. And it’s been a long time since I last touched a guitar.

What are you wearing?: A comfy loose black t-shirt and loose pastel green shorts. 

Dream job: Basically to not work at all but that’s just wishful thinking. I enjoy my job now. It gives me the money, time and friends that I want to pursue things outside of work. It can be frustrating at times but what work isn’t. 

Dream trip: I want to visit the US. I want to see the Grand Canyon. I want to see Monument Valley. The US is a big place and there are so many things to visit and see there. I also want to visit London, France, maybe the Swiss Alps too. There are just too many countries to visit. 

Favorite food: I love Japanese food a lot. Tempura is my favourite. If we are talking about 

Significant other?: None but I am looking. It’s a frustrating thing of my life. 

Last book I read: « Beyond the Empire by K. B. Wagers. Love the trilogy.

Top 3 fictional universes: Mass Effect for sure, Dragon Age and Locke and Key. 

[lizthefangirl]

If Bellamy heard her.

Now on Ao3!

madeoficeandfire said: Do you think you could ever write about Bellamy receiving the messages, but not being able to respond??? Your writing is incredible

So this is now my second fanfic ever—and it’s a monster. The reception of the first one about Clarke’s radio log was so positive, I truly appreciate it!

By the way, I referenced this incredible article about the mysterious ship in the finale, that explains a lot about the Eligius Company. A fan actually pieced it together two months before the finale aired! 

Word Count: 5,209 

Enjoy!

-Liz.xx

The sunlight shone through the trees, onto her hair—green and gold. Clarke surveyed the valley beneath them, that little crease between her brows. “Not long now,” she murmured.

She always said these things. Cryptic, awaiting. Though he never got a real answer, he still ventured, “Until what?”

This time, she peered at him, eyes sad. “’Til you have to go.”

Bellamy stared, surprised. He shook his head slowly. “I’m not going anywhere, Clarke.”

She just smiled, stray locks of hair drifting over her face as she tilted her head to the sky. “But you already did,” she said softly.

He followed her gaze, heart hammering as he saw the rocket take off in the distance. “No,” he rasped. “No, I’m right here—”

She was gone. The trees bore a metallic sheen, branches becoming angular—square. Vines turned into tubing, stretching and elongating towards the horizon until he sat in a hallway, thousands of miles above—

99 DAYS 

He woke with a start, tremors wracking his body. As usual, his skin was slick with sweat, but he wasn’t warm—just the opposite.

An oxymoron, she quipped in his mind. 

Bellamy snarled, throwing the covers off of him and stumbling to the sink in the attached bathroom. The light flickered on at the movement, and he splashed water over his face and neck, suddenly feverish. 

He dabbed away the excess moisture on a towel, catching his reflection as he stormed out—bruise-like shadows beneath his eyes, cheekbones jutting. They’d all lost a bit of weight since they’d arrived on the Ark due to their new diet, but he could hardly keep down a meal the first couple weeks. 

Mind still addled by the dream, he wondered if she knew—had known—how she’d shaped him. He had always been malleable in her hands. She was right, of course, when she told him he lived by his heart; it was always the people he loved that drove him.

Most of them existed in memory, now.

There was a time, not so long ago, when knowing that his sister was safe—and she was, as safe as the ruined planet would allow—would have been enough. Always her, his whole life. 

He had never anticipated that another person would wrap her fingers around his heart, his lungs. That even in death, the grip would not relinquish, but hold firm.

Use your head, Clarke chided.

“Trying to,” he shot back, flopping onto the cot. “But you won’t get out of it.”

100 DAYS

Raven was fiddling with something in one of the main rooms early the next morning, as she had been for the past few days. She’d waved everyone off when they’d tried to ask about it, until she simply bit out, “Radio.” 

No one bothered her further, knowing that logic was the last thing she needed. 

Bellamy studied her, concerned. She looked worse than he did. Murphy told him this was how she had been in the lab—completely out of it. Only, she wasn’t now, he was sure. She was still present, just… focused. Obsessed. 

A high-pitched keen rang out, and he covered his ears. “Ow?”

She didn’t respond. Her movements had quickened in the last minute, eyes sparking. “C’mon,” she hissed, turning a knob. 

The same noise rang out, twice as deafening. He imagined his friends being startled awake, half-expecting to hear Murphy bellow from his quarters—

“I really need to go outside, Bellamy.”

He stopped breathing. 

Raven sagged, a slow smile crossing her features as Clarke—voice riddled with static, but still—Clarke—spoke again.

“I think I’ve memorized every inch of this fucking place—”

“Say something back!” he cried, hoarse. “Raven—”

“I can’t,” she whispered, eyes glassy. “But she’s there. She’s alive.”

He was shaking. He sank down next to her, bringing his ear to the speaker. 

“Even hoped there might’ve been a spare rocket tucked away someplace… If I could get up there to you, I would. I’d do anything.”

There was a click, and she was gone, leaving them in hollow silence. 

365 DAYS

Raven eventually installed the radio into the control room’s console, and the transmissions continued, every single day around the same time in the late night or early morning. Some were devastatingly brief, others went on for minutes. And every one of them was addressed to him. 

Eight months, and they still couldn’t find a way to radio her back—it was simply not possible with the equipment on hand, Raven informed them. 

Still, he would be a fool if he didn’t hold onto every word. 

The day after the first message, the others listened with varying levels of awe as her voice rang out in the next one. Even Murphy and Echo appeared to be suppressing emotion. 

“I, uh. I started drawing again.”

These words came one year after Praimfaya, and he alone heard them. The others had not joined him that night to listen, and he was glad for it, moved by their understanding.

“Wish I could see,” he murmured back, mouth curving into a grin.

“I haven’t told you before, because… I dunno. I’ve drawn all seven of you—even Echo. You’re hard to draw, did you know that? Not because you’re too handsome to be properly rendered on paper. Don’t flatter yourself, Blake.” He snorted. “I think it’s the hair. Or maybe the eyes…” Her voice grew slurred with sleep. “Or the freggles. Hm…” 

After a minute or so of silence, he clicked off the radio. That night, he went to sleep with a smile on his face for the first time he could recall in over a year.

410 DAYS

He stood outside of her old cell. 

Since he’d forced himself to check the surviving prisoner records a week before to confirm its location, he had come here every night, unable to enter. He had the code memorized, but his legs seemed hardwired to the floor. 

Her transmissions were everything. And… nothing. They were ephemeral, there and gone. But this room… She’d been held inside during one of the darkest times of her life, and he was afraid of what he’d find within. Yet it called to him—she called to him.

So he used his head to open his heart, dialing the numbers into the key pad until a faint beep sounded. The door slid away, dim lights flickering to life.

Blood pounded in his ears at the sight of walls covered in drawings—exquisite sketches of all that existed on the ground. He recognized the monuments they studied in history books, as well as the various plants and animals. Her bunk was untouched. He hadn’t realized his legs had carried him forward until he glimpsed at his feet.

It was a night scene, a slender moon hovering above the trees, reflecting onto a lake below. An image that neither of them imagined they would ever see, years ago. A memory brushed at the back of his mind as he studied the sea of stars.

I wouldn’t even know what to wish for, he’d said to her once. 

He knew now. Every second, he knew. 

Careful not to smudge the marks, he lowered himself beside them, welcoming the exhaustion that swelled and dragged him under.

521 DAYS

“I went outside today. I went outside and I didn’t die!”

All seven passengers laughed (at least, the five that were capable of freely expressing emotion), sharing in her relief. Monty cuffed the back of his neck. 

“Maybe someone else is alive, after all… Maybe they’re even cute.”

This drew chuckles all around, and Bellamy vowed that he’d deny the heat that rose in his cheeks at her words until his dying day. 

702 DAYS

“Bellamy. Your rover is trying to kill me.”

He beamed at her irked tone. He had wondered if she would locate it. It had been Monty’s suggestion, to stash it away with some extra fuel—on the off chance of survivors, he’d reasoned.

She was certainly that.

For a few minutes, the feed went silent, until the strong hum of the engine crackled over. “I have conquered the beast,” she announced. “Raven will be so proud.”

She was, when he told her the next morning.

902 DAYS

“I found some guns on the opposite end of the island. They were tucked away in a barrel, just like the ones we found that first year on the ground. Only, these were in pieces.

“… You remember that, Bellamy? That was… quite a trip.”

Did he remember? He loosed a breath, exasperated. Did he remember. 

Long before now, the memories of that day—however warped by the hallucinogens they’d ingested—met him frequently. In the time she’d been away after Mount Weather, he would abruptly recall those odd, tender moments as he loaded his rifle, hands faltering in the memorized movements.

It was all fleeting sensations: His arms circling her own, such a natural gesture until the vaguely soapy, earthy scent of her hair hit his nose. Until he became aware of his heart stuttering in his chest at the way she held the weapon, with such stubborn determination. The realization that she was letting him touch her, instruct her—such a departure from their initially venomous encounters.

It had stolen the breath from his lungs, and thoroughly complicated things.

Clarke had gone quiet on the radio, but he lingered. When the words came through, his quiet fondness vanished at her quivering voice. “Bellamy, I… I hope you’re alive. I hope you all are. But if you aren’t—”

A sob tore from her throat. He stared at the speaker in wounded shock, flinching as he heard a sharp crack, as if she’d dropped her own. Panic flared, but he forced it down, waiting, waiting—

“I’ll see you again,” she said, words clipped with resolve. She was so accustomed to silence, and he hated it. How many times over that year on the ground had he wanted to reach for her, comfort her, and decided against it? Wasted it?

“Yes, you will,” he strained anyway, knuckles white on the edge of the console. “You will, Clarke.”

1,109 DAYS

“So you will never believe what happened today,” she hissed. “I found another person. A little nightblood girl named Madi.”

Today, Bellamy sat with Echo, of all people. She’d slinked into the room to listen. Even after three years in a confined space, they didn’t exactly have a friendly report, but they were civil enough. She cooperated with the rest of the team, and came in handy as he’d anticipated with tasks involving brute strength or a warrior’s precision. He couldn’t help but be moved by her moments of restrained surprise at the eternal night around her over the months—both hers and Emori’s. Each time it happened, he’d see Octavia in her makeshift mask, beaming as she gazed out the window. 

Echo’s eyes widened as she heard the news. Clarke went on to tell them how the child had travelled to the island on a raft, following her mother’s instructions. He was struck by the same awe in her soft words.

“Bellamy, I’ve never had a… Someone younger than me. You had Octavia, and I… I know I just found her, but I don’t want anything to happen to her. I won’t let anything happen to her.”

He felt… He couldn’t name it, exactly. Pride? Relief? Echo’s staunch eyes were on his face, and he glanced at her, emotions shuttering. “What?”

She remained expressionless, but only just, a lilt to her full mouth. “You were smiling,” she said.

1,481 DAYS

The crew aboard the Ark was enraptured by word of Clarke’s new companion. They listened eagerly over the next year as she would recount the girl’s steady progress in learning English, her existing knowledge of hunting and wildlife from Trikru, and general quirks she possessed that seemed to amuse Clarke to no end. Some while ago, the pair had decided it was time to return to the mainland, check on the remnants of Polis and the surrounding territories. All of them were anxious to know the state of the bunker and those it held.

Clarke told them of the failed vessels they’d constructed together to carry themselves, supplies, and the rover, though her hopeful tone never erred. At last, they successfully hit the current, using the satellite in the lab to ensure an ideal sailing forecast. She gave limited reports in the days of the voyage and Bellamy’s stress would subside each time they arrived. 

On the third day, her transmission was delayed longer than all the rest—by almost a full twenty-four hours. Everyone had paused in their tasks, riddled with worry. 

“We’ve hit the mainland,” she crowed, causing her friends start suddenly. Many were keeled over with sleep. Their eyes cleared quickly as they processed the information. “The rafts worked. Even the one for the rover.” In the background, high, muffled cheering rang out. “I can’t believe we pulled it off, after all of those tests—”

“I want to talk to him,” a young voice announced. 

The others exchanged bemused looks, and he shot them a withering expression, flushing. They had heard Madi speak several times, but never directly into the receiver. Nerves crept into his gut at how important this child had become to Clarke—to all of them.

Then she spoke, plain as day. “Bell-amy. Clarke says that you are tall.” 

Stunned silence swept the room, promptly shattered by peals of laughter. He waved at them to be quiet, even though a low chuckle had bubbled passed his lips at her matter-of-fact tone. 

The child continued, only a vague inflection to her words, which came quite smoothly. “It is night and the moon is full. You have black hair, and my hair is brown. Almost black.” Finally, she finished through a yawn, “I want to see the ship, please.”

Harper brought a hand to her mouth, eyes lined with silver. Monty smiled sadly. Murphy’s eyes went to the floor, though Emori’s hand tightened around his. Raven stared at the controls as if she could see the wiring beneath. Echo lifted her chin slightly, face blank. 

Bellamy wordlessly rose out of his chair and walked out. They knew better than to follow him. 

He didn’t leave Clarke’s cell until the next transmission was due to arrive, and when it did, he listened alone.

1,623 DAYS

“Bellamy, the temple collapsed. The bunker is sealed underneath. I’ve tried to reach them on the radio, but it still isn’t working.”

“I am so sorry, Bellamy. I thought… I thought…” 

The knowledge struck the group like a blow. They’d all seen Polis leveled in the lab. They knew the planned protocol: Five years of resources, of refuge, and then… The last of the clans was to rise from the ashes.

Perhaps it hadn’t occurred to them that the ashes simply would not permit it.

1,795 DAYS

“A month,” Clarke said faintly, desperately. “You could be back here in a month, Bellamy. You could—you could meet Madi, and…” She paused, catching her breath. “Thirty days. Why do I get the feeling they will be longer than the past 1,795?” She laughed weakly.

Thousands of miles above, Bellamy squeezed his eyes shut, an empty glass in hand, the nearly drained Baton sitting before him with hardly a finger left.

Because it wasn’t thirty more days. It would be another hundred. Two hundred. Another year, at most.

And she couldn’t know. He couldn’t tell her. 

He eyed the liquor. 

“I miss you. I need you back here—”

He almost dropped the glass as he lunged to click off the radio, forcing himself to exhale. He knew the exact date he would finally down the remaining contents, yet he sat tempted each night, contemplating it until his vision blurred.

Use your head. This time, the command was in his own voice, not hers.

He put the bottle away.

1,825 DAYS

He wouldn’t drink from it when the day finally came. For the first time in a little under five years, he didn’t tune in to her message. No, he would put as much space between himself and that transmission as possible.

When he arrived at Echo’s quarters, he told himself he was still following Clarke's instructions—using his head. Because it was a plain fact that the kind of pain ripping through him could be stifled by only a few things, and alcohol wasn’t strong enough. His arm didn’t feel like his own as he rapped on the door. She answered it almost immediately. 

No words came, but he could see that she had anticipated this on some level. And he wholeheartedly expected her to let him enter—not because he was entitled to her or anyone, but because she understood ravenous emotion, and what relieved it. 

But she did not shift. She merely looked at him, unyielding. “It will not be enough,” she said at last.  

He blinked. “I know.”

“It will not help you.”

At this, he glanced away, jaw working. “You don’t know that.”

“I do know,” she spat. 

He met her eyes, saw the fractures there and swallowed his shame. “Please,” he breathed, voice cracking.

She held his gaze. “Azgeda has a proverb,” she began. “’Kom ai tombom, ai nou slip daun.’” He pieced the words together a moment before she translated, “’To my heart, I do not fall.’” 

“That’s a shitty proverb,” he said dryly, dismissing her cold expression. “It’s not possible. We all fall to it, in the end.”

She did not respond, only leaned out slightly, looking towards the end of the hall. A window revealed the curve of the earth, an ember still smoldering after all these years. “Or we rise above it,” she murmured. Some emotion had surfaced on her face, and he quickly averted his eyes. The entire basis of his being here was detachment, which had managed to dissolve in the person who wore it best. 

“Tell me what to do,” he pleaded roughly. “Don’t tell me to fight it. To overcome it, because I can’t. I won’t. I—I left her five years ago, and I’m leaving her again today.” His eyes stung in wake of the truth, pressure building in his chest. 

He was relieved that there wasn’t a whisper of sympathy on her face as she studied him. But a wrinkle formed between her brows, as much expression as he’d ever seen from her. She seemed to steel herself before she spoke. “My king banished me, and still I tried to save him,” she said huskily. “The only time that I have saved someone is you, when we arrived here. And that was fulfilling a life debt.”

He dipped his chin, remembered finding her upstairs, covered in warpaint with a blade to her gut. The woman who he had saved once before in Mount Weather, who had killed Gina, who would have gladly killed his sister. When he stopped her the second time, it was because she would be an asset to the group. It was because time was running out and Clarke had not returned, and she would not have let her die. 

“Do not waste my efforts by breaking yourself further, Bellamy,” Echo ordered. “And do not dishonor her fealty to you after all this time.” 

He stiffened at the words, left gaping at the door as it slid closed. 

1,833 DAYS

“You sure?” 

Monty spoke, sitting with Raven and Bellamy in the control room. For the past week, he’d been unable to listen to the transmissions. The others had, though—and each one looked ill afterwards. But he needed to hear her voice, even if it was agonized. He needed to face this. 

“Yeah,” he rumbled. Monty still hesitated, glancing at Raven before turning on the radio, which had notified them of an incoming signal a moment before. 

“—been five years, and a week. It’s been five years.” 

She sounded hysterical. Bellamy bent until his forearms rested on his thighs, fingers curling into fists to keep them from trembling. 

“Clarke?” Madi’s voice was barely a ripple in the static. 

“I told you to go to sleep, Madi. I’m sorry, please just—go to sleep.” A pause, then louder, sharper: “Please! I can’t talk to you right now, I can’t—it’s been five years. It’s been five years, and he’s not—” Her voice cracked. “Oh, God. Bellamy.”

The feed cut out. 

He covered his face with his hands, unable to conceal his wheezing gasps, the way his shoulders quaked. He heard Monty’s shoes scuffle against the floor, a placating hand appearing on his shoulder, squeezing tight. Raven rubbed soothing circles on his back, pressing herself close. Both of them barely controlled the sounds of their own grief. 

“She’s strong, Bellamy,” Monty said a while later, after they’d parted. “She won’t give up.”

“Neither will we,” Raven finished, quiet and fierce.

He could tell that they truly believed what they said, and he willed himself to do the same.

2,059 DAYS

Clarke’s words did not stop coming. Slowly, their tone seemed to shift to something like determined optimism. A little over half a year later, she reported that they had found other nightblood children hiding away in Polis, and had managed to convince them to join their ranks. Together, with the oldest of the eight, they continued to attempt to remove the rubble blocking the bunker, to no avail.

“But if I know your sister,” she told him, “there’s no way she isn’t still fighting.”

He smiled a bit, gazing out one of the windows he so often evaded of late. 

The repairs to the rocket were nearly finished. Various studies were completed that could prove helpful to the planet below. Raven now estimated they would be on the ground in a few months.

Hope flared in him, and he clutched to it with all he had.

2,061 DAYS

“Madi found this spot for us the other day, overlooking Azgeda territory. The mountains.” 

Bellamy’s crew was prepping for the trip to the ground.

“It’s so beautiful. She told me she wants us to come here everyday so that I can talk to you, and she can have her lessons in peace.”

Each day, information was finalized, forecasts were checked. Trajectories. Emergency procedures.

“Her English is so good. You can barely hear the accent anymore. I’ve said it before, but you really would love her, Bellamy. All of the kids, I think.”

He glanced up from the inventory list he was reviewing at her final statement.

Exercising reason was key to surviving up here. He managed it well enough, though his dreams were exempt from control. As the remaining days until the departure dwindled, his dreams seemed to explore both the greatest joys and the worst horrors of his imagination. They fluctuated randomly, and he desperately wished for something to force them away altogether. Last night, it was one of the too-good ones (though the too-bad ones usually started that way). 

He stood on that overlook she’d described at dusk, surveying a sort of party. Madi—who usually appeared in his dreams suspiciously similar to a young Octavia—played with the other Grounder children around a fire, leaping and twirling. The rest of the Ark crew sat in their own parties: Monty and Harper—who cradled an infant in her arms—and John and Emori, smiling down at the child. Echo, sitting stoically with Roan, was dressed like an Azgeda queen. Raven was laughing with Sinclair over some broken device, her leg brace gone; Jasper was drunkenly slow-dancing with Maya, howling the lyrics to some song and dipping her in his arms. Kane and Abby stood by Thelonious and Wells Jaha, chuckling warmly with Miller and Bryan. 

And just across the clearing, Bellamy’s sister met his eyes from where she sat with Lincoln, flashing a grin. 

Best and worst of all, he felt no fear, no guilt when Clarke Griffin appeared at his side, rising on her toes to plant a kiss on his cheek like it was the most natural act in the universe. She smiled at him fondly, hair shorn to her jaw, and handed him a glass before lifting one of her own. “How about that drink?” she said quietly, eyes sparkling in the firelight as they had on a night years before. 

It was an impossible future by all accounts, he told himself. And for that he was grateful. 

2,199 DAYS

“Medical stock is good,” Murphy said flatly as he entered the control room with Emori.

“So is fuel,” piped Harper.

“And water,” said Echo.

Bellamy nodded at them, marking the items off his list. “Good. Raven, is the final check done on the repairs?”

“Yeah,” she panted, swiping a hand over her forehead. She held her helmet under her arm. “Everything looks right.”

“And probably won’t explode,” Monty added cheerfully from her side, also in his suit. 

Bellamy breathed in through his nose. “Even better.”

Everything was set for them to leave, but the weather forecast suggested it was best to wait another two to three days. He’d be damned if they stayed a moment longer than that, regardless of what it predicted.

“Hey, Clarke should be on,” Harper said, walking to the radio and clicking it on. He didn’t look up from where he worked, but listened closely as the familiar high-pitched squeal broke into static, and then her voice.

“—can hear me—if you’re alive—it’s been 2,199 days since Praimfaya.”

The crew settled around the room as her relaxed voice filled it.

“I don’t know why I still do this everyday, maybe it’s my way of staying sane, not forgetting who I am—who I was. It’s been safe for you to come down for over a year now, why haven’t you?”

He stopped writing, as he always did when she said things like that.

“The bunker’s gone silent too, we tried to get them out for a while, but… there was too much rubble, I haven’t made contact with them either. Anyway, I still have hope—”

You still have hope? she’d asked him in Arkadia six years before, voice thick with tears.

He didn’t know where his next words came from. But it was a fact, and those were good—certain. We still breathing? he’d replied.

They were. 

“Tell Raven to aim for the one spot of green and you’ll find me. The rest of the planet from what I’ve seen basically sucks. So—”

His head bobbed up as her words cut away, feeling concern spreading amongst the others as the moments passed. And then—

“Never mind,” she breathed, “I see you.” 

“What the fuck?” Murphy blurted. 

Bellamy blinked in bewilderment, waiting for her to continue. When she didn’t, he practically threw down his tablet, surging for the radio. He pressed the call button as hard as he could. “Clarke,” he rasped. “Clarke.”

Raven’s voice was thin. “Bellamy—”

He cursed, bringing his fist down onto the speaker with such force that it crackled and keened. “Enough,” he barked, turning to the others, their faces drawn. He pointed at the window.  “I do not give a shit if the third apocalypse is waiting for us down there. We have to go—”

Someone else said his name, but he couldn’t—

Who did she see—

Ice kissed his throat, and he jolted. Hands clamped down on his arms. 

But all he saw was Echo, glaring at him over her short-sword she always carried, the blade’s edge poised at his jugular. “Kom ai tombom, ai nou slip daun,” she hissed. 

To my heart, I do not fall.

He panted, blood pounding in his ears.

The only way to make sure we survive, Clarke whispered in his head, Is if you use this, too. A phantom finger tapped his temple. 

He relaxed his muscles with a shallow gasp, and waited. The grips on his arms loosened, but Echo did not retreat until he met her eyes. She read his, and stepped away, lowering her weapon. 

They watched him warily. “Raven,” he croaked. “Check the forecast again.”

He didn’t look at her as she complied, fingers clicking rapidly over a keyboard. “It’s the same,” she reported tightly. “Strong storms across Clarke’s region over the next two days, clearing out on the third.”

“She definitely saw a ship,” Monty said quietly. “You could hear it.”

“We haven’t seen another ship in six years,” Emori choked.

“Wait.” They all looked at Raven. Her brow narrowed, then her eyes widened. “I—hang on. Hang on.” She limped out of the room, Monty glancing back at them in confusion before following her. Harper went next, then Emori. Soon, all seven dashed through the corridor, Bellamy and Murphy at the tail.

Raven sat before a screen in one of the labs, typing frantically. “All records were synced from Becca’s lab. I’ve read them all since we got here, and there was one… Shit, what was it—here.” A window popped up, containing what appeared to be an old article. The headline read:

CONTACT LOST WITH ASTROID MINING PENAL COLONY

“It was called the Eligius Mining Company,” she explained. “Jackson and Abby… God, it was so long ago, and I’m pretty sure I thought I was imagining it with Becca in my head, but they found some stuff about this while researching nightblood. Which should be in the database…” She made a triumphant noise and another window popped up. “This must have been the record they saw. Criminals were sent to space in hypersleep for long-duration missions. And Becca was supposed to give them nightblood to protect them from solar radiation.” She laughed once and sat back, breathless.

“So… they’ve been woken up, now,” Harper ventured carefully. “Sent back to earth?”

“I mean, it has to be them,” Raven said. “We couldn’t track them on the Ark because they aren’t in range—there are plenty of viable astroids to be mined. Tens of thousands.”

Monty remarked, “Maybe we never found them because we never really looked. Earth was always the priority.”

“Did you say criminals?” Murphy asked.

Everyone went quiet. 

“It’s the same,” Bellamy murmured. “It’s the same as six years ago. A batch of delinquents sent to the ground… But Clarke is the Grounder, plus Madi and the others. They might be the only ones. Everyone else is still in that bunker—”

“Mountain men,” Echo whispered. He nodded, grim. 

“We can’t land yet,” Raven said, shaking her head absently. “We have to get to her—alive. We can’t risk leaving too soon.”

“And if they kill her and the kids first?” Murphy said. 

Emori smacked his arm. “John.” 

“What?”

“They won’t,” Bellamy said firmly, reading the bolded words on the screen a final time before meeting their eyes, one by one. “Because they don’t know what they’re dealing with.”

A slow, feral grin spread over Echo’s face. “Wanheda.”

“No,” he said, thinking about the walls of the prison cell, covered in images of Earth. “Hope.”