#this is just a building frustration from people not giving Scar the credit he deserves

[all54321]

I know right??? This feels like people went “Oh Jimmy and Scar are teamed? Guess they’re going out quickly” and just kept pushing that. Which also annoys me because Scar just won SL???

They are on 3 lives, and there are three people with 1 life left.

The Bamboozlers are pretty high standing with lives too, all of their team is green and Lizzie has five lives. Which you can’t say about some of the other teams. And now they’re allies with one of the other teams with basically all their lives left (who are also strong)… yeah no…

People just are staring at these guys so critically that they ignore any points that show they’re not weak. If y’all are making claims at least back them up.

Sure Scar and Jimmy did both get to red, but they’re back to green and that says a whole lot more.

Did not just watch a full episode of Wild Life in which both of Grian's teammates desperately try to get kills and both end up on red despite (and often because of) their effort, for you guys to keep saying Scar and Jimmy are getting eliminated next episode.

Jimmy has five fucking kills man. He's doing GREAT!! I know that people are attached to the canary curse, and this is Wild Life so I understand anything can happen, but come on. I will admit I don't have high hopes for Jimmy, but I really think people are selling him short this season.

Yeah Scar failed like eight traps this session, but he's still doing well. Ya know why? Because he's good at taking advantage of a situation. That man has six kills on Etho alone for a reason. Do none of you remember last season when Gem attacked Scar early on during the boogeyman apocalypse because she thought he would be an easy kill, and she had to RETREAT because he did too much damage on her?!?

The worst part is that no one is even claiming Jimmy and Scar are in danger for reasonable things, like the fact that Grian (who has the HIGHEST kill count in the series) has just declared them his number one enemies. Everyone is acting like they're both just going to throw themselves off cliffs three times next episode. Like yeah they can both be reckless players but they aren't stupid. They know to stay safe on red. Scar especially performs well on red. (He is a LOT like Joel)

Speaking of which! The Bamboozlers have happily made an alliance with the Family. Two of the strongest pvp players on the server. "But Jimmy killed Joel" yeah and Joel congratulated him because he thought it was a good kill. Scar and Lizzie have had alliances with the Family for a while, now that Jimmy's green there's no bad blood between them. And while I don't think Gem or Joel are gonna die saving any Bamboozlers (well, Joel might for Lizzie), having them on their side may slightly deter Grian's posse considering their desperate attempts on the Family's lives this episode.

POINT BEING: The Bamboozlers are ALL in a really good place at the end of this episode. Their whole team is green, they've secured an alliance with the Family, and they're all competent players. Y'all should be really worried about Mumbo right now. I'm worried about Mumbo.

[babylooneytoonz]

(A/N- Not my gif. Found this lovely one on Google and have no idea who it belongs to. Let me know if it's yours and I'll credit you.💕)

Warning(s) - ANGST, WAR & mentions of violence, character death.

Quick links- For those who haven't read the Prologue & Part 1, you will find all of them here.

Trip Mines & Broken Hearts [Tommy Shelby x Reader]

Part 2

It wasn't until weeks after that day you saw that blue eyed boy again.

It would have been a lie to say he didn't cross your mind once since then—

When you weren't treating casualties or you were curled in your bunker, your reading glasses plastered to your eyes and an old , tattered book that belonged to your elder brother rested against your thigh, you found yourself thinking of him, wondering if he was doing okay, if he was alive —

A part of you felt guilty— you should have thought of your brothers, prayed for their safety, prayed for the war to get over so you could all go back home, but you couldn't stop yourself from wondering if Thomas Shelby had made it so far, since the last time you saw him.

A few miles away, in a basement of an almost crumbling building, the soldiers of the 8th Service Battalion were trapped. The only exit was blocked by piles of rocks that had come crashing down when a trip mine had exploded, taking the life of a fellow comrade. Tommy stood by the stone wall, leaning against it, holding his body for support, a lit fag in his fingers, his lips belting out smoke as he exhaled. Right in front of his eyes, three of his comrades, which included his brother John, were digging with their bare hands, trying to burrow a hole into the ground so they could get into the other side and get out of this godforsaken place.

Tommy's fingernails were soaked with blood and dust, his nails almost broken for he had been the one trying to dig with his bare hands an hour back and had only taken a break to take a little rest. His observant eyes scanned through the men that were tumbling in and out of his vision, yelling amongst themselves, talking or trying to come up with a plan but his eyes were fixed on one person— Jasper.

He looked just like you, his raven black hair was just the same shade as yours, only shorter. If you decided to one day chop off your locks, you'd pass as his twin. Tommy dumped the cigarette butt to the ground and at the same time, his hand flew to his neck, clasping his fingers against the locket that you had given him. It felt warm against his palm and he knew he should have given it back to the black haired boy in front of his eyes.

Maybe this was meant to be his lucky charm, a token of love from his sister, something that was meant to protect his life. Although he wanted to go and talk to the black haired boy, a part of him did not want to part with the memory he had of you— a part of you that was now clinging to his neck.

Maybe it was his selfishness, or it was just his thoughts of you, the fact that you occupied a corner of his mind more than anyone these days, he bit on his lip hard and kept his mouth shut. He will talk to Jasper, but later — once they were out of this place.

And they did.

Only how—

It was almost twelve hours; the men were hungry, starving beyond their wits and the basement smelt of piss, sweat and blood. Finally, a yell rang through the lads' ears. A hole had finally been dug. They were free— they could go to the other side now. One by one, the men started crawling through the hole and their heads emerged on the other side of the basement, where bright moonlight shone though the glass windows, providing them with respite. There the door was, right in front of their eyes; all they had to do was get out and breathe the fresh air. Anything was better than the stale, bloody air in this place.

Tommy was speaking to his brother when from the corner of his eye, he saw three boys, one of them (Y/N)'s brother. They walked up to the front door, placing their hand on the doorknob, they pulled it open when suddenly, there was a click.

"DUCK!" Tommy screamed at the top of his lungs, as loud as he could, jumping to the ground, shielding himself underneath a table when a loud explosion happened and the screams of the three men in front of him drowned into his ears. His palm flew to the locket that dangled from his neck and a sudden guilt hit him.

"Jasper, no! Fuck, fuck. No." Tommy slid out of his hiding spot, cowering slightly just in case there was any more explosion to happen, making his way through the furniture that was lit on fire around him. There, in front of his eyes, lay the young man, covered in blood and soot, coughing.

Tommy fell on his knees, sliding his hand underneath Jasper's head to lift it up as he could see that he was still breathing, although very faintly.

"Jasper, hold on. We're going to get you to a bloody hospital, you know?"

Breath by breath, Tommy could see life sliding out of the young boy's body and it hurt him.

"Listen, mate, I met your sister, she's at the camp, she's a nurse, a fuckin' good nurse and she will —"

"She has no - no one except m-me and Johnny—" Jasper's breathless voice cut him off, whispering, his voice cracking, his chest heaving up and down.

"Come on, don't you fucking die on me here. I promised her I'll take you to the camp the next time I need fuckin' stitches."

Tommy placed his hands on the young boy's chest, pumping his heart, trying to get him to open his eyes.

"Tommy—" John's voice called out to him but he ignored him.

"Tommy" This time John's voice was loud, causing Tommy to sharply turn his neck towards him. Underneath the layers of blood and soot covering his face, he could see the sadness in John's eyes. "He's gone, Tommy. He's dead." John whispered, his voice barely a whisper.

The darkness surrounded you, but it wasn't peaceful; you could hear the sounds of occasional grenades and trip Mines somewhere at a distance and you could sometimes hear a cry of pain. You had to force yourself to clench your eyes shut and press the pillow tight against your ears to block out any sound. You wondered if life could get any worse than what it already was—

Letting out a frustrated groan, you sat up in bed, rubbing your tired, sleep deprived eyes as you snaked out of bed, your feet touching the floor. Without making any noise, you sneaked out of the bunker, not wanting to wake up anyone inside as you walked out. You looked up at the sky, the moon was shining bright — it was a beautiful full moon; a lovely starry night, but it was ironical how no one could see beauty in it. All we could see was blood, death and cries of pain.

Your arms wrapped around your body instinctively as a chilly breeze hit you, causing a shiver run down your spine. It was then when you heard the sound of the crunching of leaves somewhere across you, causing you to sharply look forward, until the familiar silhouette of the blue eyed boy came in your view.

"Tommy!" You exclaimed, your voice expressing a sudden joy you didn't know you could even feel.

You didn't know why; what connection you had with him but it felt like someone you'd known for ages had finally come back back to you. You ran in his direction, wanting to embrace him.

"You're back! You—" Words stopped from your mouth when you saw him up close. He wasn't happy. His face looked worse than how you'd seen him the last time— yes, physically too but more so, emotionally. You could see a scar in his eyes; you knew something had happened. His eyes were sunken, hollow, his face devoid of any emotion.

"Tommy—" You whispered his name, your words dripping with pain; it was strange to say that you felt it, genuinely, whatever it was that was bothering him. There was a connection and you could feel a pain building inside you as well, looking at him— so distraught.

"Say it," you pleaded with him.You knew he knew that you were in no mood to play games; that you knew that something had happened and you weren't the type of a girl to beat around the bush.

Your eyes moved along with Tommy's hand as he slid it into his pant pocket and pulled something out. Within the next second, you felt his fingers brush against your hand, his hand finally taking a hold of your hand and turning it so your palm was wide open. He then placed something cold against it and you looked down, the silver glistening against your now tear clouded eyes.

Your locket—

You bit your lip.

He was dead, of course he was.

You didn't cry or break down. You looked up at the sky and your lips curled into a weak smile. He was finally free; free of the torture, of watching countless people die and he had died a martyr. You were proud, needless to say. But your heart felt heavy. It didn't matter if he'd died a martyr's death, what mattered was that he was gone— your baby brother was gone and he was never coming back.The next minute you knew, you were on your knees, your face buried against Tommy's chest, his arm holding you gently as he let you whimper against his chest, his hand stroking the back of your head.

"I'm sorry, I'm fucking sorry. It should've been me maybe. I didn't give him the locket, I thought—"

You kept listening, all the while you had your face buried in his chest, a stabbing pain rising in your chest.

"I wanted to keep it for myself. I should've given it to him."

It didn't matter anymore. He was dead.

You don't remember how long you cried for—

It was probably minutes—

But once you were done, you wiped any traces of tears left in your eyes and put on a brave face. You were still sitting on the ground but Tommy was now standing, wondering, if there was anything he could say to you; to comfort you.

You didn't need it—

No amount of words can comfort you, and he knew it.

So he slid his hands into his pocket and turned away, slowly walking away from you.

"Tommy, wait." You weakly called out, and he froze, not turning towards you. You stood up and with slow, dragged steps, you walked up to him and placed your hand on his shoulder, nudging him to turn towards you and face you. He had to fucking face you, you deserved that much. "Look at me, for fucks sake." You hissed, your voice harsh, his body immediately stiffening in response to it. But he did what you asked him to do. Slowly, he turned around and your eyes met his icy blue ones.

He had expected you to slap him, scream at him and curse him but he had least expected you to do what you did then. You swallowed the bile forming in your throat and brought up the locket to his neck, clasping it around, letting it hang from it.

"Although it didn't protect him, I always hope it protects you."

You took a step away from him but this time, he caught your wrist, pulling you back towards him.

"Y-you don't hate me?" His voice was filled with anguish.

"It wasn't your fault. Maybe this was how it was meant to be. If there's anyone to blame, it's me. Instead of praying for them to be safe, I hoped and wondered if you were okay—" You softly whispered, looking down at the floor.

Tommy left the wrist he was holding reluctantly and this time, you gave him a weak smile and turned away. Watching you leave tore through his heart but your words providing his aching heart with a medicine, your words which he'd heard, the fact that you had thought of him, the fact that you'd wanted him to be safe. The fact that you cared for him. You wanted to be alone; to grieve. So he let you be. But he kept standing there, watching you with awe in his eyes. He wondered what he'd done good in life, to meet a woman as pure as you were. And now, a sudden selfish desire filled him up completely.

He wanted you. He needed you now. And he had to have you.

A/N: thank you for all the love I've received so far. And thank you to the creators of the lovely GIFs. 💕

[jackarychaoti]

To Build A Heart.

A portal opened in the forge, allowing both Dicenne and Jackary to step through. The Mage flicked his middle and index finger behind him, shutting the portal before any curious bystanders could peek through from where the pair had come from. Once settled in the cozy workshop, Jack even gave a stretch of his arms above his head, groaning from the idea of needing to finish the project Dice had willingly helped him nearly complete.

Strewn across one of the work benches, the device they were crafting remained in pieces, the three crystals that pulsed in a dull glow still separated and carefully placed so as not to cause any unnecessary explosion.  The items had begun to take shape and while the last few metals still needed to be worked by Dicenne, Jack needed to focus on building the engineering parts of the project.

“You know, if we keep teasing people like that, they’ll think somethin’ is going on.” Jack mused, pulling up a chair to glance over the pieces he had left behind to take a much needed break. “They’ll come here looking for your dragon and you’ll have to explain I’m an actual dragon and it’s not a metaphor for your dick.”

Such a notion caused a bark of laughter from Dicenne who had suffered his own exhaustion, he’d been working all day with the volatile ore and lucky for the pair, he had experience with such. Plucking up his hammer, the Blacksmith grinned, flipping it in order to get back to work.

Hours ticked by on the clock, music played through the night in the Workshop as the pair worked in unison together, chatting the night away and while it could have been considered more goofing off than actual labor, the beat of the music drove a few moments of dancing, even singing along in which Dicenne learned quite quickly that night - Jack could dance and he could sing wonderfully. 

Within the early hours of the morning after, the sun had begun to lighten the sky, the soft rains pattered across the windows could finally be seen. Dice slid over the final  piece to set it on the table near Jack and flopped down, sweat-soaked and covered in the residue of ash, fingers pushed through his own hair to watch the dragon put together the last bits of their hard work.

Jack was careful in the way he placed each crystal in the built chambers, designated by its matching conduit ore that Dice had forged for him. It was the most nerve-wracking part of building such a contraption and while Dicenne held his breath to study Jackary at work, the Mage was solely focused to the point that he hadn’t even noticed he was being watching out of curiosity. When the last stone was placed and the piece Dice had passed off was brought up to be inserted into place, Jack’s mumbled ‘thank you’ was almost overridden by the soft click of the screws latched into place.

Completed, what Jackary held within his hands was the anatomical shape of a heart, his fingers smoothed around the forged metal, drawing small runes that began to etch in the wake of his magics. Soft incantations were whispered passed chapped lips and once the last symbol was etched, a gentle glow illuminated the mechanical wonder, pulsing in matching a heartbeat. Jack leaned back to admire the glow as claws moved to scratch idly at his neck where skin had begun to slightly dull in colour and loosen akin to a sunburn.

“So...” Dicenne finally spoke up, leaning forward to rest his arms on the now clean table, his vision lifted from the heart to Jack’s face. “You going to tell me who it’s for?” Asking what it was had been futile, but curiosity for who Jack was putting so much effort into something for had finally gotten the better of him. Maybe it was idle conversation to wind down before bed, maybe he was just trying to figure that much more out about the dragon.

The question had Jack push his tongue out between his lips, a motion tale as old as time that he was taking the time to pick and choose his words carefully. How badly Jack wanted to just be honest with Dicenne to finally break down and confess everything to this mortal who had taken him in. Yet something held him back, the idea of dragging Dice into a world he didn’t belong to, it had Jack finally raise his own vision up to meet the other in a thoughtful glance.

Who had the item been for?

A demon.

A friend.

“You, obvi. Duh.” The joking tone was accompanied with a twinkle in his eye, the bantered response of cheeky composition was also given with a wink. Perhaps Jack hadn’t given Dice the credit he deserved, or perhaps he had felt a twinge of fear in confessing the actual truth of it.

The answer had originally caused a smile to form on Dice’s face, the half-grin fell into a confused gaze and the more he thought about it, the more Dicenne could easily tell Jack was keeping secrets. That eyebrow raised in a simple look that he often gave the dragon, calling him out when it was Jack who was coiling away. That smile faded ever so slightly.

Sucking in his lower lip, the dragon realized rather quickly he was being called out, if by a look alone. Cheeks heated, frustrated that someone, let alone an elf could read him like an open book. Only one other person managed that completely and for a moment, he half wondered if Darnath and Dicenne had been in league at one point or another. Perhaps in a previous life.

“I h-have a friend who is in need of a new heart. As a walking specimen of mechanical body parts... Who better to craft it?” Closer to the truth but in his flustered state, it was difficult to even put words together.

Dice reached up and over the table to snag Jack’s cheek, pinching the red skin lightly to wiggle the scarred flesh, a habit he’d picked up every time the beast was flustered. It was cute, he couldn’t deny it, even when it rendered a whining ‘Caaaaaaaap’ from Jackary in mild protest.

Freeing his cheek with a small tilt of his head, Jack reached up to snag the hand lightly that had been on his face, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Thank you for helping me with it, chalk it up to my tab in owing you one.”

| - @dicenne​ - @thecrimsonhand​ - |

[solalunar-eclipse]

Scars You Can’t See - Chapter 5

Chapter title: Ready to explode

Word count: about 3800 words (whoa)

Author’s Note: I think it’s about time I gave a shoutout to @teamxdark! Their comments have gotten me to start planning out some of the later chapters (and giving me a lot of inspiration), so I figured they deserved some credit!

And thank you to everyone who’s read this fic so far- every note I get is incredible and I hope you’re all enjoying the ride :)

First | Previous | Next

Sonic stared blankly at his phone screen for the fifth time this morning. The old texts and the name at the top of the messaging app blurred slightly as his eyes unfocused. He was waiting for...something. What, he wasn’t sure.

That was a lie.

Truthfully, he was hoping that the three little dots showing that someone was typing would appear like a miracle. He knew that wouldn’t happen, though. The hedgehog on the other end of the messages had turned off his phone entirely. Heck, Shadow was literally in hiding. There had been exactly one post on Chatter (which he and Tails totally hadn’t read over and over searching for hidden messages) and that was from Omega.

But chaos, how Sonic wished for just five minutes to talk to him. He hadn’t even realized before now how much he normally texted the hybrid in a day. The hero honestly just messaged whenever he saw something or found a funny joke that he thought Shadow would like. In dealing with his new absence, though, Sonic had come up with an idea to write down whatever it was he’d seen that he figured Shadow would enjoy and save it for later.

He was forced to stop this when he wrote nearly two thousand words’ worth of moments in half an hour.

Sonic cursed all the times he’d taken Shadow’s near-constant presence for granted. The hybrid had always been a punctual texter, despite Rouge’s repeated attempts to convince him that he didn’t have to answer right away. Even when the other hedgehog had been off on a mission, Sonic still had an idea of how long he needed to wait before he could start texting. But now, it could be days, weeks, or even months before he could talk to Shadow freely again.

What if you’ll never hear from him again? a nasty inner voice whispered. What if that call was the last time you got to hear his voice?

Sonic felt his stomach fall through the floor at that idea, before swallowing the sensation and shaking his head. He couldn’t doubt Team Dark like that! They were guaranteed to pull through, and kick G.U.N.’s butt in the process.

Speaking of which…

The hero was pretty angry at G.U.N., and that was actually a big deal for him. Sonic didn’t get angry, except sometimes at Eggman. Even when a bitter detractor had posted a lengthy essay on Chatter explaining exactly why Sonic was (supposedly) a terrible person, he hadn’t reacted in fury- or even close. He’d had his friends’ support, and honestly? He’d pitied the person more than anything. Anyone who was trying to tear others down had probably been hurt pretty badly themselves.

Sonic had even made a meme out of their misspelling of his name- “Sanic” was now a worldwide joke with a hilarious drawing to match.

But now, all he really wanted to do was beat someone up- some robots, some evil agents, whatever- and trash the whole organization until they were all falling over themselves to apologize. The fact that G.U.N. had dared to treat Shadow’s obviously painful past with no kindness whatsoever really got on his nerves. The hybrid had suffered a hundred times over, lost his memory, and even died to save the world, yet he still didn’t get the respect he deserved.

“Uhhh, Sonic? Is everything okay?”

The blue blur jumped, startled out of his spiraling thoughts. He heard a growling noise, and his eyes widened when he realized it was coming from him. Sonic could feel his lips curled back into a snarl and quickly straightened his face out, blinking and clearing his throat. “Yeah! Sorry, Tails…” he said, embarrassed at having been caught in that kind of state. The fox eyed him skeptically. “Really, I’m fine!”

“Are you su-”

“Yeah!” Sonic exclaimed, grinning reassuringly. No point in upsetting others with his own problems, after all. “Everything’s good here, buddy!”

“If you say so…” Tails muttered. He didn’t seem convinced, but accepted it despite this. “Anyway, what I came over to say was: we’re out of groceries- can you head out and get some? I made a list of everything we need, it’s right here!”

Ordinarily, Sonic would’ve complained loudly and with much drama about having to do something so menial as a grocery run when he was a hero, for chaos’ sake. But that wasn’t the case these days. “Sure thing!” Sonic agreed, feeling better already. With a distraction to keep his worries and negative thoughts away, he’d be back to normal in no time. “See ya soon!”

The blue blur dashed out the door- before returning a second later, a sheepish grin on his face. “Forgot the list,” he explained, rushing out again.

With the wind in his quills, it was almost too easy to forget everything that he’d been thinking about just moments before. Sonic grinned properly as he raced across fields and through side streets. This was his element, after all!  He made his way to his and Tails’ favorite grocery store, bounding over obstacles and pulling a few awesome parkour tricks he’d picked up over the years. Shadow had always gotten on their case for not supporting a more local store- this one was a big name, after all- but Sonic had--

He shook his head, walking into the building. No more thoughts like that! There was only so much ruminating on bittersweet memories a guy could do in a day.

His presence here was relatively common, so he didn’t do much more than turn a few heads as he stepped through the automatic doors into the air-conditioned halls of the large grocery store. Sonic forced himself to walk through the aisles (instead of sprinting through them and accidentally whipping half the items off the shelves in his wake). As he did so, though, he began to hear people talking. And they weren’t just talking about the latest viral video, or boring politics, or any of those things, either.

They were talking about them.

Of course, everyone would always change the subject when he walked by, chatting loudly about their dog or their kids or whatever. It was almost as though they were saying, “Don’t look at me! I didn’t say anything about your friends! I’m just here, minding my own business!” But of course none of them really had been.

He recognized that he was spiraling down the path of thinking about it again, even though there was nothing he could do. And now no matter what, the thoughts of some of his closest friends were tainted. Which totally didn’t frustrate him at all. 

It didn’t help, he thought irritably (not noticing the mild scowl that had appeared on his face), that G.U.N. was basically screaming in all the op-eds and information releases the organization could get their hands on that they weren’t in the wrong. They didn’t say that specifically, of course- that would be too obvious. Instead, they just published the same old news over and over again: Team Dark had stolen classified files and then run away. 

This had all begun to grate on Sonic’s nerves a little, particularly when pundits and newspaper writers alike began to spout wild conspiracy theories about Team Dark having been spies for ‘the enemy’- whoever that was- or that one of them had finally lost it...or even all three at once. The most frustrating, however, was when once avid supporters of the former G.U.N. agents completely disavowed them and distanced themselves from the team as much as possible. It made him want to pull a Knuckles and punch a wall- how could people turn on the team so easily?

The hero pulled himself back to reality to realize that he’d been staring at a can of soup for the past few minutes. And were those dents where his fingers had been? He put the can in his shopping cart, took a deep breath, and continued on, giving himself a little ride on the back of the cart as a treat. Normally, he’d remember his various accidents and restrain himself, but lately the hero had needed to clear his head. He deserved this.

A few minutes later, a chime on his phone let him know that Tails had sent him a message. Sonic opened it up and read the text: 

milesperhour: Sonic, I think you need to see this. Take a close look at paragraph 5. https://www.centralcitynews.com/team-dark-update

Sonic clicked the link, sighing, and began to scan the article. Another one? Really, he’d had enough of-

Oh boy. Oh wow. Okay.

They’d made a move. G.U.N. didn’t release much in the way of information- all they’d done was declare an official alert asking people to keep a lookout for Rouge, Shadow and Omega. And to tip G.U.N. off at a hotline that they’d provided for this purpose.

Sonic had learned how to read between the lines over the last few days, though, and on his second read-through, he saw what most would not. 

...are in possession of multiple classified files…

So they’d stolen more info? That must’ve been what Omega’s post was about! Sonic began to squeeze his phone hopefully. Maybe this was it, maybe soon this whole nightmare would be over!

He practically flew through the rest of the store at the thought. Team Dark would give G.U.N. what for, the organization would apologize, and then everything would be fine!

Sonic checked out in a hurry, rushing home as fast as he could. Slamming open the door, he yelled out, “Tails! Did you see- oh right, you sent me the article. But still! Things are looking up, buddy!”

Tails had a slightly lopsided grin on his face, making the hero’s heart sink. “What’s that look all about?”

“I don’t know- it’s probably nothing! After all, Team Dark can handle any situation they come up against...just, G.U.N. has a lot of resources, you know?”

Sonic’s smile returned in full force. “Sure they do, but they also owe me for saving the world, like, a million times over! Once we’ve got the Edge Gang back with us, I’ll go talk with the commander and get them to straighten everything out!”

“That sounds like corruption, Sonic…” Tails said, a wicked smirk appearing on his face.

“Dude, what?! No! I’d never-! I just meant I was gonna see if I could talk some sense into them- hey, get back here!” Sonic screeched, seeing Tails run off with the groceries...including the donut he’d bought for himself.

…

Later that afternoon, Sonic was in the middle of finally enjoying said donut after wrestling it from Tails’s (evil terrible Sonic-and-sugar-hating) claws. It was a little squished, but it was still great- he wasn’t complaining!

That was, of course, when he heard a loud, sharp knock on the door.

He jumped up and zipped over to the entry hall, pastry still in hand. Whipping open the door, a shocking sight greeted him- one that made all of his battle-honed senses immediately scream danger danger danger. Two impeccably dressed G.U.N. agents stood before him, a human and a barn owl. The human seemed pretty awkward, wearing slightly rumpled slacks and overall looking a little messy. The owl, however, despite being about the same height as the blue blur, exuded an air of steely discipline that would make everyone she faced feel about two inches tall.

Everyone except Sonic, that was. He was secure in the knowledge that his friends were not wrong, and he maintained his usual relaxed demeanor without a hitch. The hero smiled fake-pleasantly at the two agents, ignoring the fact that he had sugar glaze at the corners of his mouth and all over his glove. “Sorry, guys, I wasn't really expecting guests.” He gestured to himself as an obvious example. “Anything I can do for ya?”

He didn’t offer to let them inside, though. These agents were hunting down his friends, he was absolutely sure of that. Sonic refused to help them in any way, not when Team Dark was still out there and being threatened by their organization.

The barn owl gave him a look that nearly pierced through his very soul. “Sonic the Hedgehog. I am Agent Toya, and this is my colleague, Agent Jones. We have a few questions that we would like to ask you. Inside.” Her voice was cold and clear, with no trace of an accent.

Sonic felt a chill run down his spine, but kept his smile up regardless. “Sure thing!” he chirped, despite very much not wanting to let them in. “The living room’s right this way- make yourselves comfortable, I’ll be back there in a sec.” He honestly didn’t think he could have refused them entry without...complications.

The hero zipped over to Tails’s workshop, flinging open the door with a little more force than he’d intended. The fox jumped up in a fright when it smacked against the wall, staring at Sonic. “G.U.N. is here. Two agents.” he said quickly. The imminent sense of danger in the back of his head wouldn't leave him be, despite the fact that he was one of the most powerful people alive.

...Despite this, don’t let G.U.N. take you or anyone else anywhere. You might not come back…

...These people aren’t crazy geniuses- they’re ruthless destroyers…

“Oh, chaos.” Tails breathed. “I’ll wait nearby, okay? Then I can do something if they start getting too intense.”

Sonic nodded, before speeding back down to see the agents sitting on his couch. “Hi! So whatcha guys want?” he asked perkily, burying his thoughts for now.

“Hello to you too, Sonic.” Jones said politely. “How are you?”

The hero tugged slightly at the cuff of his glove. “Pretty good!” he lied through his grin. “Been chilling around the house for most of the day- how ‘bout you?”

“Not bad,” the human answered. “Work is work though, you know?”

“Yeah, sounds pretty rough.” Sonic said, a little unconvincingly. Before he could stop himself, he thought of all the late nights Shadow and Omega had spent working on paperwork and various odd jobs for G.U.N., and the times when Rouge had to cancel her dates with Knuckles because she was just too exhausted from work to do much of anything. His smile became slightly strained as he worked to keep his frustration on Team Dark’s behalf under wraps.

The owl gazed at him silently for a moment, having watched this whole awkward transaction with a calculating look in her eye. Then she spoke. “I’m certain you have seen the news lately.”

“Uhhh...kinda, I’m not big on newspapers, but I try to keep up, yeah! Always nice to see an article about yours truly, hah.” He played it off, deciding to act dumb for now.

Agent Jones shifted in his seat, looking cautious. “Yeah…” he said, offering up an incredibly fake smile. “I’m a bit of a fan, myself.”

Sonic knew exactly what was going on. It was almost so classic he had to laugh- the old good cop/bad cop scenario. The human was clearly trying to play the good cop, and not enjoying it either. The hedgehog had to wonder, though, was he just a better bad cop or uncomfortable because he was helping grill a hero?

Oh, right- Agent Toya was talking again. “We know that you have seen the articles published about the betrayal of Team Dark. Even if you do not read the news, one of your friends will have told you by now.”

The hedgehog’s eyes narrowed a little. “And what’s that supposed to mean? What do you want outta me?”

“You. Know. Something.” she said sharply. “That team- in particular Shadow the Hedgehog-” He tensed at her flippant use of his name, as if they weren’t hunting him down like he had legitimately gone bad. “-trust you. You are very close with them. They would not have left you with nothing.”

Sonic shook his head, trying one last time. “I don’t think so, lady. I know about as much as you- if that. It’s not like we’re besties or anything.”

Agent Jones shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know- it looks like you guys are pretty close to me. Not that that’s bad, I mean-!!” he amended rapidly, realizing his mistake. In addition to having blown his role as the ‘good cop’, he was now being stared down by a very irritated pair of green eyes. The look he was being given contrasted sharply with the grin plastered across the hero’s face, and the agent began to sweat slightly and avoid his stare.

Meanwhile, Sonic turned his attention back to Agent Toya, sitting up straight and squaring his shoulders in preparation for more. He was a fighter, after all.

It seemed that the barn owl came here ready for a fight as well, because her own eyes flashed and she straightened her G.U.N. uniform. “Sonic. We need information. Our organization has been compromised. Twice. We are in a crisis and we are ordering you to tell us what you know.”

That did it.

“As if!” the hero exclaimed, jumping to his feet. “You think I’m the kind of guy who’d sell his friends out and watch them get carted off to jail- or worse?! I don’t know as much as you think I do, and if I did, I wouldn’t tell you!” He had probably blown any semblance of ignorance up now, but Sonic couldn’t find it in himself to care.

The owl agent stood as well, glaring at him. “If that is the attitude you are going to take, then we have no choice but to take you into custody.” She began to reach for the Taser on her belt at the same time as Jones grabbed the gun from his holster. Sonic’s eyes flickered between them both- the human he could take on, but he wasn’t completely sure about Toya’s skill with the Taser.

Could he get around them? Sure, but not without breaking something...and he hated to bust up his house just because a couple of agents showed up on his doorstep and pulled weapons on him. He’d handled worse odds, hadn’t he? But then he and Tails would constantly be on the run, and that was no way for a nine-year-old to live…

A loud crash resounded in the kitchen. Jones shouted and jumped up, Sonic’s head snapped around so fast he tweaked his neck, and Toya took a step backwards.

Rubbing his neck and wincing, Sonic yelled out, “Everything okay in there?”

Tails dashed into the room out of nowhere, crying out, “Sorry! Sorry! I was just working and wanted a drink- and I heard- I heard-” 

The fox then began to cry, sobbing and clinging to Sonic’s chest. “You’re not gonna take him away, are you? I need my big brother…” he sniffled. “Sonic, everything’s gonna be okay, right?”

The hero was trying his very hardest, meanwhile, to keep his jaw from hitting the floor as he watched his brother, a brave, intelligent sidekick and someone he was proud to fight beside, put on the most incredible show he’d ever seen. “I…I dunno, buddy…” he said honestly, uncertain about how to react. 

This seemed to be a pretty good move, as Tails immediately began to bawl harder and gasped, in between sobs, “Please don’t take him away from me!”

It appeared that Toya would not feel comfortable using force against Sonic (or even resuming her interrogation) when the young fox was around. Instead, she gave him a very pointed, piercing look, before declaring, “We will be back at a later date to continue this conversation.”

She stalked out the door, Jones shoving his gun back onto his belt and following sulkily behind her. As soon as she had gotten into her car and driven off, the hero sagged into the couch and let out a loud sigh. “Welp.”

Tails flew out of the room immediately afterwards, whispering a quick “Wait there and chill for a second I’ll be right back” before he exited. Once he returned, the fox crawled around on the couch next to Sonic before letting out an “Aha!” and holding up what appeared to be a tiny piece of metal.

“It’s a shame to have to do this, but…” he muttered, before vanishing with it. A couple minutes later, a very loud noise boomed from Tails’s workshop and made Sonic panic before blasting in there at top speed. 

“What was that?!” he shrieked. 

“Just destroying this camera that human agent left in our couch.” the engineer replied lightly.

“Wait- what??” Sonic gasped. “He did what?”

“I thought they’d be crazy to leave without planting one, so I checked the camera feed, and it was pretty obvious! He must be a new recruit.”

“Wait- you have a camera? In our living room?” the hero asked, feeling slightly creeped out.

Tails shrugged. “Well, I didn’t until recently, but I figured that G.U.N. would have to show up at our place eventually, so yeah.”

They both stayed there in silence for a minute, before making their way back down to the main house. 

“Well, what do we do now?” Tails wondered. 

“I dunno- you’re the smart guy, pal.” Sonic replied quickly. “I just don’t want to have to escape from them! I like running, but not away from people. Especially bad people.”

“Well...does it count as running if we’re hanging out with Knuckles?” the fox suggested hopefully.

Sonic sighed. “I guess not...it’d be cool with him, too, since Angel Island is a pretty safe place and all. I still hate the idea of hiding from them, though.”

“Maybe you won’t have to!” Tails said, trying to be cheerful. “After all, I don’t think people will buy it if G.U.N. says you’re a...traitor…” He trailed off, remembering a particularly eventful moment from their past.

“Yyyeah.” the hedgehog said dryly, having thought of the same thing. “That’s exactly why I didn’t have to ride through the streets of Central City on a piece of helicopter.”

“Let’s not think about that for now though, okay?” Sonic asked. “ I don’t like the idea of being scared all the time.”

Tails nodded in agreement. “Besides, we’ve handled them before! We can cross that bridge when we come to it anyway.”

Sonic grinned. “How about we watch some TV for now, take our minds off things?”

“Sure! But I’m definitely gonna tell Omega- or whoever calls us next- about this. They deserve to know.” the fox answered.

“Okay…” the blue blur said. He felt a little guilty that he could just turn on a movie and forget about G.U.N. for a while- Team Dark didn’t have that luxury. Quickly, though, he added, “Anything on there you’ve been dying to watch?”

Tails smiled happily, and Sonic decided that this was totally worth it. “Well, there is this one documentary…”

[italicwatches]

Megalobox - Episode 05

Man, I always forget how deep GMing a session drains me. For just sitting around goofing, I am beat after once the spinning-plates adrenaline fades off. Anyways, let’s do this. It’s Megalobox, episode 05! Here we GO!

-We open cold, on a war zone. A battlefield full of dead and dying, sand ripping through the desert and forcing those still making their way through it to go full goggles and masks just to hold together…Their intel says the enemy’s gone, and they’ve got to pull a search and rescue on any civilians still stuck in this mess, but there’s no guarantee of safety…

-And one of the soldiers has a complete and total breakdown, unable to deal with seeing the bodies of the civilians…When he spots something. A dead woman, cradling a bundle. Could she have…?

-…No.

-So much worse.

-Someone put a bomb under her body on their way out. He has a single moment to realize…And then, fire.

-Opening.

-Back in the Now. That boxer turned soldier, Aragaki, has just told Nanbu his story. His body’s a mess of scar tissue. He’s lucky to be alive, and luckier still to have something akin to a normal life…And now, he’s made a decision. He wants to break that kid of yours, Nanbu.

-Wh…What?

-Payment of debt, Nanbu. He lost a lot going down the road you started him on. And breaking your newest toy is going to help pay for that loss.

-Back in the houseboat, Nanbu’s really thinking about dropping this fight…Because he’s scared. He’s scared of what Aragaki could do to Joe, and how much the man knows of the same training Joe would have…

-Which is when Sachio looks up Aragaki’s data. And…Whoa.

-He lost a lot more than you’d think, looking at him in his street clothes.

-Both of his legs are prosthetics. Gear. Chances are his left eye is, too. He’s fighting with a body half destroyed by a war he never asked for, turning the frustration and despair into a weapon…

-The reactions are deep and profound. Nanbu thinks they can’t fight a man who’s so fiercely willed as to come back to the ring like that. Joe thinks they can’t turn a fight from that man down. This is their best possible shot…

-So they’ve got to train. Twice as hard, twice as much. Nanbu and Joe end up back in the ring, with no special tricks or plans they can use. All they can do is refine. What’s the perfect distance where Joe’s punches have maximum force for each form. What’s the closest he can be and still have room to react to something coming at him. How much stamina can he burn and still bounce back in the next round. All of these questions are what they need the answers to, and to refine those answers…

-The next morning, Joe gets back from a job to eat breakfast, finding that Nanbu bailed after making food…And Sachio’s been pulling a lot of data on this Aragaki guy. He first hit the legit scene ten years ago, and pulled a mess of one-round KOs…But then he got called in for military duty. He’s only been back in the ring for three years, and in that time he’s climbed hard…

-And look at his opponents. He beats them into the fucking ground.

-A moment back in time. When Aragaki went to the service…And when Nanbu found out that the local kid done good wasn’t in the ring anymore.

-Then it’s to the Now. Nanbu’s gone to the veteran center…Where he sees a man being taken to the hospital, and meets the caretaker at the center. And he sees the graveyard in the back. Stones for those men who the war took…And most of the ones here? They’re not KIA. They’re suicides. Men who tried to come back, but the war tore them too deep…Aragaki’s one of those broken men. And the caretaker here was broken, too, one of his hands a prosthetic…

-He got back, thinking he could return to the ring, thinking he could return to Nanbu’s side…And then Nanbu, having heard he was KIA, wasn’t there. Aragaki hates you now, Nanbu. He doesn’t want to see you ever again.

-…Yeah. Nanbu’s not surprised, not really. …But tell him not to take it out on the kid. Whatever their problems are, Joe deserves an honest match. You’re not going to ask for your own forgiveness? …No. No he isn’t.

-To the center’s gym, where Aragaki works his body, and the caretaker comes to ask Aragaki a simple question. What do you want? If it’s to get into Megalonia, you should cancel this match and go fight someone above you, climb the ranks.

-Aragaki’s logic is that he can bring in cash for this place this way. Fight the infamous Gearless Joe, get attention, get sponsors, get cash.

-They don’t need cash, Aragaki. They need people pulling themselves back together, being whole in spirit. And this isn’t getting there. This isn’t about the money…You’re jealous, Aragaki. Jealous that he found someone new. And you’re clinging to the past, instead of looking forward.

-But Aragaki isn’t hearing it. He’s not abandoning his path.

-Back in the past. Aragaki sitting in a shit apartment with his service pistol in his fucking mouth, ready to eat the bullet…When a note slipped out of his boxing gloves, an old betting slip from Nanbu. That single distraction was enough to hold him back for that briefest moment, enough for survival instincts to kick in and stop him from doing something he could never take back…

-The next day, he went to find Nanbu’s old gym…And found it abandoned, boarded up. His mentor gone. The place he’d called home, turned to dust in the mouth. He wept there, a disabled veteran in the slums, for a long time…

-In the Now, that old building isn’t even there anymore. The lot is dozed over, waiting for investment that’ll never come. Aragaki stands, staring at the empty hole that used to hold his second home…When Joe rides up on his motorbike. Yo.

-Megalobox, Round 05: The Man From DEATH

-Back at the houseboat, Nanbu gets back, and Sachio’s been doing tons of research. Aragaki’s going for all light and lean, hardly any power…And Aragaki’s an old vet. He’s gotta have way less stamina. Joe’s going to have to win this one by attrition.

-Nanbu has a different thought. Aragaki was a lot like Joe. A speed man. His Gear’s lightweight for the same reason Joe’s old kit was, to keep that speed up. And Sachio just straight up calls Nanbu out for why he never even noticed Aragaki climbing the ranks until now…

-Which leads to Nanbu stepping out and sitting in his truck, where he knows all too well what happened. He let himself put Aragaki in the past. Let himself believe the man was definitely dead. Because it was easier. A few days of grief instead of a lifetime of hard calls. He buried even Aragaki’s memory, and left him abandoned…

-Joe and Aragaki are just…Talking. And Aragaki has one simple question; what the fuck happened? The Nanbu he knew would never pull off something this ridiculous. You’re fighting Gearless. Why.

-…Joe agrees. It’s ridiculous. It’s absurd. But right now, it’s all they’ve got. They’ve just got to put their faith in each other. …That kind of faith gets betrayed, Joe. He’ll abandon you.

-So the legs, you blame him for them? Aragaki freezes up, uncertain how to answer that…

-And when the conversation ends. Joe just welcomes Aragaki’s challenge. They’ll settle things in the ring. You want to destroy him? Come try and destroy him. But he’ll put up a fight.

-More training. Nanbu’s focusing on Joe’s speed above all else, trying to make Joe able to out-dance Aragaki…And Joe can see that Nanbu’s rattled. He genuinely doesn’t think Joe can win, and he’s not even able to lie about it.

-Aragaki’s having a hellish flashback, remembering that fucking day in the desert…But when he remembers turning over the woman’s body, she has Nanbu’s face, and grabs him to keep him from escaping the explosion…!

-He awakes, gasping for air, having dozed off in the locker room…Nanbu’s not the only one who’s rattled. That man re-entering his life has put Aragaki on the brink of collapse.

-In Joe’s own space, he’s suiting up…And Sachio arrives to find no Nanbu. Did….Did he give up? Who fuckin’ knows, kid. Who, fuckin’ knows.

-Nope. He’s gone to the other side, to finally confront Aragaki and talk to him, and beg him to keep what’s between them between them. To not take it out on Joe. But Aragaki barely even hears him…

-The match is starting. Both men have fans going wild, ready to see how this will go…

-And Nanbu remembers the night when he saw it. When he saw Aragaki’s name on the KIA list.

-In the ring, the caretaker asks Aragaki one thing. If this is what he thinks it is…Be ready to move on and get your closure. One way or the other. …Yeah.

-The bell. Both men are tense, testing each other…Neither’s willing to go all out, whether in power or speed. It’s footsies, the careful dance of two men on even footing…Until Aragaki gets a solid shot in that, even when Joe blocks it, he’s forced back, landing right on the ground.

-And sure, Joe springs up. But he’s on the backstep. Aragaki keeps getting in glancing blows, and dodging what Joe has…And then he goes in for a full force strike, dancing around one of Joe’s punches, and puts a haymaker out that sends Joe down! The timer starts as he lays there, and as the timer counts, Aragaki takes one look at Nanbu and smiles…

-Credits.

FUUUUUUCK

[octannibal-blake]

Sad Songs for Dirty Lovers 2/4

By: bellamysdelinquent (ao3:theoneinquisitor)

Rating: mature

Word count: 14,951

Part: 2/4

part ii. never tell the one you love that you do

Read on ao3

part i. 

July 2013

When Clarke was six years old, she got into her first fight. She had been out on the playground, minding her own business, when she saw a group of guys pinning someone to the chainlink fence and reaching into his pocket for, what she presumed, was money. Wells Jaha was a politician’s son, someone they others knew to be rich and privileged and their jealousy constantly made him an easy target. When Clarke had stomped over to the fence and shoved one of the kids to the ground, they quickly scattered, afraid of the tiny blonde with fire in her eyes. Her and Wells stuck together after that, living in their own little bubble in the world. It was good.

She tries to remember the last good moment they had together, tries to cling to it like a lifeforce. They had been eating lunch together and he had been telling her about some science project gone wrong in class. He laughed so hard soda nearly came out of his nose. That’s how she wants to remember him -- all bright smiles and expressive eyes. He was a shining star in the night sky, the kind that draws your attention from all the others. The one that all the other stars want to be.

It’s easy to conjure that vision of him during the day. When something reminds her of him and draws as smile from her lips. The kit-kats at the checkout counter of the corner store, TIME magazine sitting on the newsstand. When she sees Halle Berry on her TV. There are memories of him wrapped in the universe but when she closes her eyes those don’t exist. In the dark shadows of the night, the only thing she can see is the way he looked at her just before the accident. She had been all tears and snot in the passenger's seat, her drunken rage vibrating the entire vehicle. His free hand rubbed circles into her shoulders while his other gripped the wheel firmly. At the red light, he had pulled her into a hug and allowed her to wipe her face into his shoulder.

“He doesn’t deserve you,” was what he said and it was with such conviction, so much that she actually believed him. The light turned green and she’s giving him a watery smile. Then she’s waking up in hospital a week later feeling numb to the world, feeling detached from her own body. And Wells was gone. Just like that.

Nightmares were constant for the first few months. Every night she would wake up screaming his name, reliving that moment over and over. Sometimes it’s like she is watching the accident from above, watching her own body get tossed through the window as the truck crushes the driver’s side. She’d crawl into bed with her dad on those nights and sob into his chest. The thoughts were always the same. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It should have been me.

She wasn’t alone in her loathing. Thelonius Jaha visited her exactly one time while she was in the hospital recovering, a month long process. He walked in and like a coward, she pretended to be asleep.

“I wish it were you,” he spoke his peace, spoke what she had told herself over and over, and as his footsteps disappeared down the hallway, she felt herself fall apart.

She hasn’t seen him again. From what limited information her dad would give her, he finished his mayoral term in December and then retired somewhere to mourn the loss of his son. She doesn’t blame him. She got out of the hospital and did physical therapy to get the strength in her legs back. Like some sick joke, she made a full recovery with only the scars lining her back left as a reminder of what she did.

The nightmares come less frequently. She never knows when, but even when they do they’re less vivid. Sometimes she’s trapped in a bright room and Wells stands in front of her and asks her to help him. Help me. Help me. He says nothing else.

That’s how she wakes up on this particular day. His voice is still echoing in her head when she sits up in bed and glances at the clock. Seven a.m. She clicks on the desk lamp and pulls out her sketchpad, willing herself to draw him the way she wants to remember him. Her biggest fear is that she’ll forget his smile. She’ll forget his laugh. It terrifies her.

As she concentrates on the lines of his face, she can’t help but wonder what he would think about her choices. He had always accepted her for who she was, logical, sometimes too serious. When she wanted to date girls and boys. He never judged her. But what would he say about her now?

“You can’t fuck the guilt away, Clarke,” she imagines him crossing his arms in frustration when she tells him about Bellamy. He would ask her to think about it and tell her to be careful. He wouldn't judge her or insist that she stop -- he always understood that about her. Clarke has never been great at following direction and, admittedly, is as stubborn as they come.

“I just want you to be happy.” He would say. She would give anything to hear him say it.

She doesn’t know what she’s doing with Bellamy. Maybe she is still trying to free herself from the guilt. Maybe she’s trying to heal the only way she knows how. She finds solace in his sheets, a peaceful calm and perhaps she’s using him for that. But does it matter if she’s being used to?

Despite the bluster and cocky confidence he seems to exude, she knows there is more to him than meets the eye. She’s seen the way sometimes he’ll have a distant look in his eyes, like even though he’s in the middle of a bar or surrounded by friends, he’s somewhere completely different. She notices the way his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes, the way some days he’ll fuck her without even saying a word like he’s trying to find a release from it all. She knows that’s what it is because she’s doing it too.

It’s become a frequent occurrence. Most nights they spend together end back in his room, tangled up in one another and acting out their dirtiest thoughts while keeping their dirtiest secrets. She still hasn't shown the scars on her back. To his credit, he's not once even hinted at asking about the way she flinches when his hand gets too close. She's also very good at hiding them -- sex in his bedroom happens in the dark and they're usually in his bedroom. A few instances have included dingy bar restrooms but those never really involve clothes removal. He seems to know better than to ask and for that, she’s grateful.

During the day, nothing has changed. They put books away in the library and sometimes bicker among the stacks when they don’t agree on something. She continues to attend weekly outings at the Ark and she loves them, she laughs and it’s natural. They make her laugh. They make her feel like she’s moving forward instead of back. It's strange to her how easy she's adjusted here. In the small amount of time she's found people she clicks with, a routine that she enjoys.

So it goes, normalcy can't keep for long. When she finishes her sketch and resigns herself to being up, she shuffles into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. She finds herself greeted by an already steaming pot and her mom sipping from her own mug in the kitchen. She's home from work, but the work never really ends..

“There’s a benefit, tonight,” she says after a particularly stilted conversation about the weather, “I thought we could go together.”

By no means does Clarke believe this to be some attempt at mother-daughter bonding. It's a chance for her to tell everyone what a great doctor she will be someday. That her daughter got into Northwestern and how proud she is. She wants to tell her NO way. That she has more exciting plans to attend to. But instead she chokes down her coffee and nods her head and the day is consumed by dress shopping and hair appointments.

Very rarely has she truly felt the benefits of having money. Her dad is an environmentalist, having spent years working in D.C for the EPA. For the last few years, he's been teaching at Ark U. He's no stranger to wealth, but he never cared about affording the nicest or newest material things. He prefers modest living and Clarke has to say she agrees.

After taking her out to buy a dress for the occasion (and shoes, because matching is important), she then finds herself at a salon having someone professionally tame her curls and pluck her overgrown eyebrows. She somehow manages to text Bellamy in between these events

Clarke: won't be able to do your job for you today, hope you can keep up.

Bellamy: guess I'll have to convince someone else to do it for me. Research shows there's a correlation between mansplaining art and people offering to help.

She has to bite her lip to suppress her laughter.

Clarke: research is inconclusive. I'll be more impressed when your sample size is >1.

Her mom calls for a driver to pick them up and it feels so freakishly Hollywood to her. Even more so when they arrive and are helped from the vehicle on the outside of some regal building. She thinks back to Bellamy insinuating that she's royalty. He'd sure get a kick out of it now.

The night is as tedious as she expects. It's all firm handshakes and impressive whistles when her mom delicately places her hands on Clarke's shoulders and informs them of her aspirations. Networking, is how her mom classified it. Professional ass kissing seems like a better term.

The most interesting person of the night catches her eye for unexpected reasons. Marcus Kane slips a comfortable arm around her mother and introduces himself as the co-founder of the non-profit benefiting from the event. She watches the way her mom's cheeks flush and she slides from his grasp clearing her throat. She excuses herself to the restroom and it's all very inconspicuous.

“So,” Marcus seems unfazed by the awkward encounter, “Your mom said you're going to school to be doctor?”

She's done well at saying yes thus far but she's beginning to feel exhausted by the constant question and she accidentally says the first thing that comes to mind.

“Apparently,” she says, less than enthused by the prospect. She expects him to seem astounded or at least somewhat surprised by he answer. Instead he gives small chuckle.

“Well, word of advice,” he leans in like he's ready to extend the secrets of the universe, “Don't do anything you aren't passionate about.”

That sticks with her the rest of the night as she listens to people rattle off their accomplishments with little excitement. She notices how some of them, despite their impressive record, seem more sad. The way they drink the champagne a little too fast and offer fake laughter and shitty jokes. Could this be her? Would she be that person ten years from now, with the long winded introduction as the highlight of her Life?

The thought alone gives her anxiety. Half way through the third speaker, she leans over to her mom and tells her she needs to leave. While unknowing to the full extent of her daughter's trauma, she doesn't argue. She assumes, like most would, that she's been triggered by something and needs to get the hell out. It's not a completely inaccurate assumption. The trigger just isn't what she thought it would be.

She doesn't go home. Instead she climbs in the Uber and it takes her to the familiar house on the outskirts of Boston, the red door and quiet neighborhood offering a comfort she doesn't think she'd get at the condo. She didn't even text Bellamy to see if he's home. Her phone died a couple of hours ago.

She sees a light peaking through the front blind and knocks on the door before she can second guess it. Even if it’s Miller, she'll be happy. He has a way of diffusing tension with his subtle humor. She has learned to appreciate it.

She still feels a small relief when Miller isn’t the one to answer the door.

Bellamy’s jaw opens slightly, his eyes sliding down her body and the outfit adorning it. He gains his composure fairly quickly, “To what do I owe the pleasure, Princess?”

When she doesn't crack a smile it seems to register that something isn’t quite right, “Clarke?”

Despite the breeze of the cool summer night and being outside, she feels like things are closing in on her. What if she's been working her entire life for something she doesn't want? What if she won't be happy? What if she doesn't deserve to be happy?

Determined to quiet her mind she surges forward and pulls him into her. His lips dry and rough, hers fierce and determined. He hesitates for a brief moment, like he wants to ask her what's wrong, but he wraps his arms around her waist instead and pulls her into the house.

“Miller is at Bryan’s,” he mumbles in between kisses. She pulls off his t-shirt in response. They fumble down the hall and she reaches behind her to pull the zipper of her dress but he stops her.

“Keep it on,” he growls and before she can react, he hikes the fabric up to her waist and covers her with his hand, palming her over her underwear. She hooks on of her legs on his hip to grant him better access. She kisses his neck, sucking on the spot between his neck and shoulder that she knows gets him hot.

When he feels she's good and wet, he sinks to his knees and delicately removes her underwear and begins to lick at her. She's never been with someone who enjoys going down on her so much. He does it nearly time they're together and he is really fucking good at it. One of her thighs rests on his shoulder and a hand tangles itself into his hair. Her free hand keeps the dress well above her waist.

He doesn't stay down there long, just enough to have her teetering on the edge. When he stands up, he places his hands firmly under ass and lifts her into the wall, pinning her there with his body. He doesn't even bother to take his shorts off. He pulls them down enough to free his cock before entering her with a hard thrust.

He fucks her against the wall in rough strokes while her heels dig into his ass. He tells her how hot she is, how good she feels, and he repeats her name like a prayer. She comes undone with his name on her lips, her body trembling against his. He let's her down gently and she wastes no time sinking to her knees to take him in her mouth. She can taste herself on his cock as she swirls her tongue around the head before taking him in. He gathers her curls into his hand as she goes and he cums deep in her throat with a guttural moan.

She stands and he moves away, grabbing a towel from the nearby kitchen for her to wipe her mouth. She takes it gratefully and follow him into the kitchen. He reaches into the fridge to grab something and hands her a bottle of water.

She slides onto the countertop and kicks off her heels before taking a swig.

“You want to talk about it?” he asks finally, drumming his hands on the counter. She wants to tell him it's nothing, to thank him for the water and be on her way. But she wouldn't still be here if that's what she really wanted. She wouldn't have come at all.

“I don't want to be a doctor,” she whispers, picking at the label on the bottle, “Not even a little bit.”

He still thinks she's already in school. She never corrected him on that. It hasn't really come up again and she thinks maybe she should tell him. But she can't quite get it out.

“Then don't.” he offers the solution like it's the most simple thing in the world. Sure, she could go home tonight and tell her mom that she isn't doing it. But come fall, somehow she'll find herself enrolled in more Bio courses than needed. It's not that easy.

“You don't get it,” she blurts out. It's a mistake. The natural progression of a statement like that is continuing to explain why. Explaining why means revealing something deeply personal. Against the rules.

“Then explain it,” he says before sliding onto the countertop next to and kicking his feet for good measure. He's all ears.

She stares at him for a moment. He's a mess, still shirtless with tousled hair and flushed cheeks. But his eyes, he's watching her with genuine interest, like despite their agreement he truly wants to know these things about her.

Instead she sighs, “My mom is a surgeon.”

She should stop there. Leave it with a simple statement and let him fill in the blanks. However, once she opens her mouth and it's like a dam breaks. She tells him about her mom, how she works herself to the bone. How she put work before her family and how that is the last thing Clarke ever wants to do. In her heart, she doesn't feel anything. She reads the books she's supposed to read, she memorized what she's supposed to know. But it's missing something.

“You don't have passion for it,” he concludes for her when she fumbles on the words she's looking for.

“I really don't.”

Bellamy slides a hand onto her leg and gives it a reassuring squeeze. His fingers warm through the thin fabric of her dress.

“What would you do?” he asks after a moment of comfortable silence, “If you were to pick something else?”

The answer slides off her tongue easier than she anticipates, “Art.”

He doesn't seem surprised by this, he only chuckles lightly, “Of course.”

“What do you mean?”

He just shakes his head with a small grin, “You know Puvis de Chavannes. And don't think I haven't seen the sketch book buried beneath those shitty anatomy books.”

She can't help but smile a little, “Always the observer aren't You?”

He shrugs, “Believe it or not I am actually interested in being friends. And I like knowing things about friends.”

She takes a long drink of her water to process. It’s not that she doesn't want to be friends with Bellamy, but it's so much more complicated than that. Clarke has a tendency to cling to people once she lets them in. Wells. Raven. She doesn't want to cling to him, partially because she has to leave and she knows it will hurt like hell to build up a relationship, even a friendship, just for it to fall apart. The second thing is, and it's only been a fleeting thought but frightening all the same, she doesn't want to replace Wells. It's stupid because it's not what's happening at all but she still feels guilt. She isn't sure that guilt will ever go away.

“Hey,” Bellamy places a hand on her arm and shakes gently, “You okay? You zoned out for a second.”

His friendship wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. She can be friends with him without letting him in. They can talk movies and frustration. They have the added benefit of sex and she feels good around him. Lighter somehow. She doesn't want to push that away.

She hops off the counter a little to enthusiastically, “Okay, friend. Any chance I can borrow some sweatpants and hang out for a while. We can watch one of your stupid documentaries.”

He gasps in faux hurt, “They aren't stupid. They’re educational.”

She actually laughs at that, “God, you are such a nerd.”

He flips her off before going to his room. He comes back with a t shirt and pajama pants for her to put on, “You want a beer or something?”

She doesn't bother going to the bathroom. Just skips the pants on underneath her dress and reaches behind her to pull the zipper, “I'm good.”

When he turns to reach in the fridge she quickly pulls on the t-shirt. She slides the dress of and lays it delicately over the counter before joining him on the couch.

“You looked nice, by the way.”

“Why the past tense? Are you saying I don't look nice now?”

When he gives a small gesture of his hand as if to say so-so, she launches the throw pillow at his head. After a moment of wrestling over it, she finally gives in and just settles into his side. He gives her a victorious grin before pressing play on the docuseries about the Cold War.

It's nearly two a.m when she decides it's time to head home. Part of her is tempted just sleep on his couch because it's so fucking late and she's exhausted. But staying the night is off the table and even if she's tired she isn't going to break it. Her Uber arrives and she grabs her dress from the counter. Bellamy walks her to the door and gives her a quick hug.

“Let me know when you get home.”

She waves goodbye and slides into the backseat. She can do friendship. Definitely.

*

Friendship is just as problematic as she hoped it wouldn't be. With any normal person it would be easy, but it's Bellamy and he's far from normal (which, knowing that is a problem in itself). He's too good a friend. A great friend, really. Supportive. Affectionate. Caring to the point of being a tad bit overbearing, but worst of all, he's observant. And now that they've crossed some metaphorical threshold into an actual friendship, he's much more vocal about the things he notices.

They’re at trivia night the following Wednesday, post friendship declaration, and the typical pitchers of beer adorn their table. It's during the intermission, Miller steps out to smoke while Harper and Gina run to the bathroom. He's running a thumb over her bare knee and she's staring off into space when he catches her off guard.

“How come you don't drink?” He muses and her eyes snap to his. She shouldn't be that surprised, it's not like she makes a show of pretending any more. It's probably quite obvious (it isn't, actually, only someone who genuinely cared to know would notice but she's not ready to admit that).

She tries to shrug it off, “Not a fan of alcohol.”

He sips his beer thoughtfully, “So you use your cleavage to have people buy you a water?”

“Or to pretend I bought the drink for someone else,” she counters with a playful nudge. This is safe, she thinks.

“Ah, so you let someone buy you a drink and then use the free drink to pick up someone else?”

She laughs, “Exactly.”

He watches her for a brief a moment, like she's a riddle he can't quite figure out. Like he knows she's only telling half-truths and avoiding the rest. Which, she is. And it's scary that he's already able to read that.

He let’s it go, thankfully, and they continue on to win trivia -- they are reigning champs three weeks in a row. She doesn't want to brag, but she is definitely a large part of that. She and Wells played trivial pursuit fairly often with her Dad. Her head is full of random facts.

She doesn't begin to worry until he asks her about her back. They’re making out on his couch, per usual, and his hand slides up her hip and move inward. That's something he hasn't done, not since the first time they hooked up and she flinches away. The reaction is very much the same, she jerks away uncomfortably and effectively ruins the moment.

“Is your back okay?” he pulls away, brow furrowed in concern. She slides from his lap and shrinks into the corner. Even in all the times they've fucked, he's never seen it. He's never seen the long, dark scar contrasting her pale skin.

“It's fine,” she whispers and she hates how pathetic she sounds. He places a light touch to her wrist -- she hadn't realized she had closed herself in on the couch, wrapped herself in a tight ball like she's cowering from something.

“Hey,” he murmurs, “You can talk to me, you know.”

She hates the way her heart flutters at that, how her body instinctively relaxes at the sound of his voice, calm and caring. That's too much. She leaves him that night with a kiss on the cheek, a “thank you but I can't” sort of gesture. He gets it, or seems to, because he doesn't push. Just reminds her to let him know she got home safe. It's clear as day, how fucked up things have gotten, but she refuses to see it. Friends, that's all it is. He really cares about his friends. * Things go from fucked to royally fucked almost three weeks into the initial arrangement. She skips the library that Wednesday to hang out with her mom who, shockingly, managed to get a day off. They go to breakfast and shop around town. She’s strangely attentive, asking if she’s nervous for school and how she can help her prepare. They even buy some dorm things while they’re out, particularly a really nice bedspread (she’s into that shit, okay?). She finds that it isn’t a terrible experience and it feels almost like they have a normal relationship. They don’t talk about med school or her mom’s job even once. She supposes it’s her mom’s way of making up for her sudden departure. According to her, some conference popped up and she has to be there. She doesn’t ask for the details, except when she’ll be back. She has the rest of the week to herself, which she isn’t complaining. Not like she’s there much anymore, anyway..

After dropping her things back at the apartment and sending her mom off in a cab with the reassurance that she would definitely not trash the apartment, she changes into the dress she had bought, a blue and white striped cotton dress with an A-neckline and heads out for the night. She picked it because the weather had been miserably hot and she couldn’t stand to keep wearing jeans when she was sweating her ass off. Also, it may or may not have made her boobs look amazing and lately, well, she just enjoys dressing up a little more.

She gets to the Ark around six and greets the familiar group as she slides into the booth. Gina pats her on the back and Miller tips his beer towards her. It isn’t until trivia begins that she realizes Bellamy hasn’t shown up yet. He normally rolls in right before it starts but no one seems to be expecting him and come to think of it, they haven’t spoken at all today. She’d been tied up and he had been working, though even then he usually sends a text or two to tell her about what she’s missing.

“Is Bellamy not coming?” she asks and she’s met with apprehensive stares. Harper looks at her drink like it’s the most interesting thing in the world while the others glance at Miller.

“What happened?” she feels herself start to panic for a moment. Surely if something bad happened to him, they wouldn’t all be at fucking trivia.

“He’s fine,” Miller reassures her and takes a long sip. He’s stalling. She knows because she’s the queen of stalling.

“What don’t I know?”

“I’m gonna grab a drink,” Gina comments and Harper follows suit, leaving her and Miller alone in the booth.

“Miller…”she eggs him on. Clearly there’s something but he doesn’t want her to know what.

“If he wanted you to know, he would have told you, okay?”

It’s not an answer she expects and it isn’t like he says it harshly, but it seems to give her whiplash all the same. She understands what he’s saying, though. It’s personal and the whole point of them is to not get personal. Miller has definitely been made aware of their...arrangement. She doesn’t mean to be loud when he’s home, but Bellamy really knows how to work her and sometimes she can’t help it.

“Okay.” and that’s all she can say really. She won’t push it any further because she has no right. She knows he’s alive and healthy and that’s all that matters. She finishes trivia with them and they come in fourth. None of them were particularly into it this week and. It's about time someone else won. They’re about to head back to Harper’s for their pizza and beer Netflix marathon but she decides to head out. She’s not much in the mood for pizza and admittedly, it would feel weird to be there without Bellamy. It shouldn't, she considers them all friends, but she knows it would. They don’t push her and she calls an Uber to take her back to the apartment. For the first time in almost two months she finds herself going home by nine p.m.

The apartment is eerily quiet, especially knowing her mom won’t be there for the next five days. It feels empty. She turns on the big screen for some noise, throwing on reruns of the Office to try and perk up the place. She heats up some leftover lasagna that her mom made earlier in the week and plops onto the couch. Still not feeling quite satisfied and frankly, a bit lonely, she calls her Dad. When he answers, she immediately feels bad because he sounds exhausted and she had probably woke him up. She just tells him she misses him and loves him, letting him get back to sleep. He doesn’t protest that. She shoots a text to Raven to see if she’s busy. When she says she's available, Clarke opts for FaceTime.

“Hello, stranger,” Raven says cheerily from her end of the phone. She looks like she’s just rolled out of bed, hair sticking out at awkward angles and eyes squinting to adjust to the light she had turned on.

“Did I wake you up, Grandma?” she retorts and Raven rolls her eyes dramatically.

“Says the girl who spends free time at the library.”

She snorts, “Yeah, but that was so I could get laid.”

Raven’s eyes widen at that, “Tell me everything!”

She does. She tells her all about Bellamy and their, er, friendship.. She thought it would feel strange to talk about it, especially as the girl who had broke up Raven’s last relationship (unintentional, but still). But Raven listens intently, even smiling when Clarke tells her all about how good it is.

“He's good in bed, huh?” she asks with a grin.

“Definitely,” She confirms. And he really is. Attentive and selfless, always making sure she gets off at least once but goes the extra mile to make it twice. He also tends to talk nasty with her which has become one of her favorite things.

As if on cue, her phone buzzes in her hand. A text drops down from the top and Bellamy’s name pops up.

“Hang on,” she tells her friend and opens the text. It’s short and to the point.

Bellamy: you home?

She types a quick reply before switching back to FaceTime.

Clarke: yep

“So friends with benefits, huh?” Raven muses aloud before turning serious, “Are you okay with that?”

“Absolutely,” She answers automatically, “He's cool and I like hanging out with him. He's also great in bed. But at the end of the day he doesn't have to know anything about me I don't want him to.”

Raven sighs, “And this doesn't have anything to do with Finn?”

“Raven,” She warns but the girl cuts her off.

“Just hear me out. I know we haven't talked about it much but I know you cared about him and he broke your heart. I know it takes a lot for you to trust someone and you're afraid to do that again…”

Her phone vibrates and interrupts Ravens totally inappropriate (though somewhat accurate) monologue about her fear of dating.

Bellamy: i need you

As far as texts go, it’s the most candid he’s ever been with her. Normally they don’t text each other for booty calls late at night, or really in general. They’re together quite a bit and they usually end up back at his place on those days. Yet, his text his pretty straightforward. He’s bootycalling her and she isn’t opposed, except this time they don’t have to worry about making Miller’s ears bleed.

                          Clarke: mom’s gone for a couple of days if you want a change of scenery.

She doesn’t even get to close her messages before he replies.

                                                                                          Bellamy: be there in 10.

“Wow, thanks for ignoring me. I'm trying to have a serious conversation here.”

“I'm sorry,” she gives her an apologetic smile, “I hear what you're saying and you're right, I'm still reluctant to trust other people. But Raven, you know it's more than that.”

It's not wanting to depend on other people. It's still dealing with the grief of losing her best friend. Of reconciling her guilt. It's her inevitable move to a different city, a place to start over. She's in limbo right now. The best thing she can offer in the way of emotional attachments extends to Raven and her Dad.

“I know.”

She and Raven continue to talk, mostly about her job at the shop and how much she hates her boss. She's sticking it through because the experience will look good on her resume but she is definitely ready for a new job.

She almost forgets she's expecting someone until the doorbell rings.

“Isn’t it like almost ten up there?” Raven asks squinting into the camera, “Who the hell is out this late?”

She just grins at the camera and Raven rolls her eyes, “Ugh. Go get laid or whatever. I'll talk to you tomorrow.”

She beams, “Love you, Reyes.”

“Yeah, you too, Griffin.”

She opens the door as she hangs up, the blanket drooping from her shoulders. She barely gets a good look at him before his hands are on her face and he’s pushing her back with a ferocious kiss. She manages to kick the door shut as they stumble back into the wall. His hands are everywhere. Her ass, her waist, her hair. She doesn’t mind. She likes when he’s a bit rough (a kink they discovered not long into their sexual relationship). He pins her hands to the wall and runs his tongue along her throat and collarbone.

“Bellamy,” she groans as he presses into her, his want for her already very much obvious. Her hip hits the foyer table and she has to throw her hand out to catch the vase that began to tilt.

“As much as I’d love to be taken against the wall, I don’t feel like explaining to my mom why her vases are broken,” she manages to get out as his hand grazes her through her underwear, very much under the dress she's been wearing.

He lets her move away from the wall and she takes his hand, guiding him to the guest bedroom. While she’d be fine against the wall or even on the couch, it feels weird to do it on her mom’s furniture. At least she can change the sheets on the bed. When she pulls him into the bedroom, he’s on her again before she can react. She allows him to yank the dress over her head before they fall onto the bed, a flurry of limbs and lips. He shucks his own clothes rather quickly, making sure to grab the condom from his wallet before tossing it all to the side. Even in the rough quiet of it all, he still throws a leg over his shoulder and goes down on her. His mouth is forceful, burying into her like can’t get close enough and it’s fierce enough to bring one of the most intense orgasms of her life. He doesn’t even wait for her to finish before he flips on her on her stomach and enters her from behind. It’s one of her favorite positions and he knows it. The angle hits all of her best spots and gives him the best leverage to go as deep as possible.

“Fuck, yes!” she moans into the darkness and he grips her ass tightly as he pounds into her. He slides one hand into her hair and tugs on it, not forcefully but just hard enough to cause her to cry out in pleasure.Within minutes she’s screaming his name a second time. Part of what makes being with Bellamy addicting is that somehow, he gets her off quicker and more times than anyone. It’s not uncommon for her to cum twice and three times on a good day. He’s fucking talented.

Tonight is a good night for her. Though it’s the least vocal he’s ever been, the bedroom absent of his normal expletives and dirty talk, he still lets out low moans and it’s enough for her at this point. She’s on the cusp of cumming for a third time when she finally feels him pick up pace and stiffen inside her. As if knowing she had almost reached the third peak, he pulls out but reaches around her and rubs at the nub between her legs. Her entire body begins to tremble under his hand, but with the magic touch he’s able to push her over the edge one more time.

They collapse next to each other, their breaths ragged and the intensity of the moment hanging in the air. By the time her lust filled haze is gone, she realizes he hasn’t spoken a single word and that bothers her. More than that, it worries her.

“Bellamy?” she questions softly and she feels him stiffen in the bed. She moves a hand over carefully, grazing his wrist with her fingertips as a semblance of comfort. Something is wrong. She can feel it.

“Talk to me,” her voice is gentle. She doesn’t want to push him. She doesn’t want to force him in revealing parts of himself he doesn’t want to. They set boundaries and she, of all people, should respect them.

“I’m okay,” his voice is broken, not in a sad way but like it’s hoarse from lack of use. It’s not a believable statement by any means.

“You can talk to me, you know?” she’s mirroring his same sentiments when she had showed up at his house unannounced to unload her personal baggage in a moment of weakness. It's opening the floor up for something dangerous, she knows, but if they’re going to be friends, she has to offer support of some kind. It seems big, bigger than something sex can fix.

He turns his palm over, where her fingers had been idly moving and grips them in his hand. His voice is softer when he speaks. Vulnerable, “I know.”

He knows. He isn’t ready, at least, not right now. So instead of pressing, she moves over and nuzzles her head into the crook of his neck. Instinctively, his arm moves behind her. They lay there, just like that. Naked. Together.

And that’s how they manage to break two rules in one night.

*

When she wakes up the following morning she becomes acutely aware of two things. She is still very much naked and there is a heavy arm currently weighing down on her waist. She should feel guilty for letting him stay and crossing one of the few boundaries they had, but he had made the choice to stay. As long as they’re on the same page about things, she thinks, then they have nothing to worry about.

She grabs her phone off the nightstand to check the time and at first it doesn’t register how late it is, but then as she’s scrolling through Facebook, she realizes that it’s a weekday. Ten a.m on a weekday.

She places a hand on his shoulder, gripping the muscle gently, and shakes, “Bellamy?”

He stirs, eyes twitching but not opening.

She shakes a little harder this time, “Bell?”

He grunts in response, “That’s what my sister calls me. It’s weird.”

So he has a sister. That’s interesting, she thinks. She’s curious, but keeps her thoughts to herself.

“You have a really exhausting name to say,” she replies instead.

He opens his eyes and she gives him a guilty smile, “You realize you’re late for work?”

If he cares at all, he doesn’t show it. He slides his arm down her side and onto her thigh, giving it a quick squeeze before closing his eyes again.

“Unless you just said fuck their books and quit?” she questions and he shakes his head.

“I have the rest of the week off.”

“Lucky you,” she says innocently and his eyes open again, a strange emotion flickering across. He quickly composes himself.

“Seriously,” concern creeping into her otherwise neutral voice, “Are you okay?”

He sighs, like he would really like her to stop asking but she can’t help it. Something is clearly off with him. It doesn’t take a genius to know that.

“You really wanna know?”

She shrugs, not wanting to push him,“That’s up to you. Do you really wanna tell me?”

He doesn’t hesitate this time, “I think so.”

They're lying face to face, and she brushes a curl from his eye before letting her hand fall to rest on his cheek, stroking at the newly formed stubble. He takes a deep breath, trying to allow her touch to soothe him.

“My mom died,” he tells her and she freezes, “I mean, yesterday was the anniversary. It’s been four years.”

There’s never a right thing to say in these moments, so she decides to keep it simple, “I’m sorry, Bellamy.”

He shakes his head, “It still hits me, even now. She had gone out to the grocery to grab some stuff and it was raining. I guess on the way home she lost control of the car...:”

She lets him take as long as he needs to fill the silence, stroking his arms with her nails, offering comfort in the best way she can, “I just feel guilty about it. She had gone to get stuff for me, to celebrate going to school and what not.”

“It’s not your fault,” she whispers stupidly. She’s sure he knows that but it still feels necessary to say.

“I know,” he gives her a half-smile, “But after she died, I told my sister I would take care of her. My sister, my responsibility. She’s younger than me and she needed me.”

She stays quiet, knowing it’s not reassurance he’s looking for but someone to listen. She can give him that.

“And instead I chose to go off to college while she had to stay with a family friend.”

She can hear the guilt in his voice, the way it seems to weigh heavy on him, “Is she happy there?”

He nods and she gives him a reassuring squeeze, “I bet she’s so happy to see you doing something for yourself.”

“She is. At least, that’s what she tells me. But I still feel guilty, you know?”

“Yeah,” she answers truthfully, “I know.”

He doesn’t say anything else and for a moment she thinks he fell back asleep. But the he reaches up and runs his thumb along her cheek, “I’m sorry about last night.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” she responds immediately. And he doesn’t. She’s glad she could help, even if was just being an outlet for his emotion.

“I was rough,” he moves his thumb down to her wrist were a small, faint bruise has appeared. She’s comfortable with it. She is a consenting adult and she, admittedly, likes it a bit rough.

“You know I like it that way,” she smiles and she feels the tension start to slowly dissipate.

“True,” he responds. They lie together and she thinks about bringing up the fact that staying the night was violation of boundaries but he interrupts her.

“Does your mom keep food here or does she survive on take-out like you?”

She laughs, “She’s probably got something. But you’re cooking. Unless toast is enough for you. I’m a shit cook.”

They get dressed and wander into the kitchen. She sits on the counter as he cooks and they talk idly about his best memories of his mom and she tells him a bit about her own family. It’s strange because she still doesn’t even know his last name. Doesn’t know his birthday, but she knows some of his deepest secrets. She’s seen him at his most vulnerable.

She can feel the third rule withering away, cracking beneath everything they’ve done, beneath the weight of their longing stares, damage from every touch they share. She doesn't know it yet, but they're creating a perfect storm and perfect storms have to make landfall eventually.

*

She should put a stop to it. She should send him home that afternoon if only to keep their boundaries firmly in place. Letting him stay the night was a fluke, something she did because he is her friend and he needed comfort. It won’t happen again, she tells herself.

They go out that night for their weekly karaoke get together and things are relatively normal. She joins Miller for their amazing rendition Tango Maureen from Rent. Bellamy sings his usual (a dramatic interpretation of Losing my Religion), and when Harper shows up with Roma, she introduces Clarke as a friend. Everyone’s friend. But when the night ends, and they go their separate ways, she finds herself asking if he wants to walk her home. He agrees and they wake up the next morning the same way they did the day before.

They spend the entire five days like that. Every day she wakes up and reminds herself that she can’t get used to this, that she needs to be careful. But then she stumbles into the kitchen and he’s got a fresh pot of coffee ready and is sitting at the counter reading the newspaper and it’s like she can’t breathe. She can’t do anything because his glasses are sliding down his nose and his forehead is creased in concentration and he’s filling in the crossword puzzle. She blows him just like that, in the middle of the kitchen, and he tells her he needs a shower and once again they’re tangled up in one another and the day is half over before they’re even ready to leave the apartment. They start finding excuses not to.

It rains on Saturday so they spend their time indoors on the couch, binging Netflix documentaries while he rattles off interesting facts about the time period or becomes so engaged that he doesn’t say a word throughout the entire thing. She never knows how it’s going to go, but she finds herself enjoying it either way. He manages to find something for them to eat, cooking a random assortment of ingredients left around the house and making them a meal. It’s probably the first time she’s had three consecutive meals since she was younger.

“Where did you learn to cook?” she can’t help but ask, curious to know how he manages to come up with a dish with a random assortment of items.

He’s stirring a pot of noodles while she sits on the counter next to him. He squeezes her leg affectionately, “My mom wasn’t around much growing up. I was usually in charge of making sure my sister ate.”

It’s another clip of who he is, some other piece of the puzzle she’s been collecting over time. He never reveals much, the most he’s ever told her had been the first night, the anniversary of his mom's death. But she catches small tidbits -- his sister is four years younger than him and he cares about her more than anyone in the world, sometimes he feels guilty about going off to college and leaving her in their hometown. Much of him is still a mystery and she’s glad to keep it that way. What she’s afraid of is that if he reveals to much of himself, she won’t be ready to walk away. What she’s more afraid of is that she might already be there.

That same night, in the midst of their documentary marathon, they end up watching one about the porn industry and find themselves arguing about the pros and cons of porn.

“It gives unrealistic expectations!” she is saying over the movie as a younger woman with a very large, and evidently fake, chest is speaking, “That’s not what sex is like in real life!”

“I think you’re having sex with the wrong people,” he challenges and he gives her mischievous smile.

“So you’re telling me that this is usually what sex is like for you?” she asks, gesturing to the current scene flashing across the screen. It’s a clip of one of the dramatic pornos, the kind that start with shitty dialogue and contain overly compensating moans. The girl on the screen is cleaning floors in a maids outfit, the kind of outfit seen often on Halloween in an effort to get laid. The guy comes in and starts beating it right in front of her and tells her to “clean it”. It’s fucking weird and she has no idea how people get off to this.

“You’ve never had sexual fantasies before?”

They never finish the documentary. She mentions her fantasy of being dominant, tying someone up and just wrecking their body. He volunteers to be her test subject very quickly. She’s hesitant at first, suddenly feeling self-conscious about what she does and how she does it. But then he whispers how much he wants her in her ear, sending shiver of anticipation down her spine and she can’t control it. They make due with what’s lying around the house (mostly belts she packed in her suitcase) and she doesn’t think she’ll ever experience anything like it again. She taunts him, hovering over his mouth so he can smell her and almost graze his tongue along her dripping cunt and he is begging for her by the time she gives it to him. She cums to the sound of him pleading her name as she rides him, her ass smacking against his thighs. It's the closest thing to heaven she thinks she'll ever get.

For him, he tells her his fantasy always involves a beach. They leave the apartment that night, backpacks filled with flashlights and blankets and make their way to Carson Beach. It's empty and he takes her to his favorite spot, one he says he comes to when he needs to clear his head because it has the best view of the galaxy. The sand is still wet from the afternoon storm, but the sky is filled with a million shining stars and he fucks her, slow and gentle, and they sink into the sand together.

He tells her about his favorite constellations. To her, they're abstract stars-- balls of gas suspended in space and time. But he rattles off their names, telling her the history behind each one. Some hold deep meaning, she learns. Deriving from Greek mythology and Latin history. Others are simple. She finds her favorite one he tells her about is the one whose name means swan. She isn’t sure how long they spend like that, but it's late when they shuffle home and finally fall into bed together to sleep.

He goes quickly, his soft breathing turned to gentle snores almost as soon as he hits the pillow. She lies awake, wondering just how much longer she'll be able to pretend she hasn't already broken rule three.

It's a restless sleep and she gives up once she sees sunlight begins to peek in between her blinds. Bellamy remains fast asleep, his arms pillows under his head and the muscles of his bare back flexing with every breath.

She slips out from next to him, pulling on the sweatshirts draped around the chair. She moves to sit in the desk next to them, pulling her sketchpad from its forgotten place in the drawer. She wants to remember him like this, she decides, all sharp edges and beautiful angles. He really is something to behold, beautiful on the outside and on the inside.

She draws him as he is, lying on his stomach with the covers falling off his hips but covering the more delicate parts of him. She works the charcoal onto the page, sketching each detail as best as she can, trying to get everything right. His curls, each defined line of his body, even the small dimples that grace his lower back. She’s still working diligently when she hears him stir.

“Don’t move,” she tells him, eyes remaining glued to her paper as she tries to get his hair perfected.

“Should I be worried?” he asks warily. She glances up to see him starting to push himself up. She flips the sketch around to show him.

“I’m almost finished,” she huffs, “Don’t move.”

He settles into his previous position as demanded, “So demanding.”

She responds with a simple hum, scratching into the paper with precision and concentration like never before. Another ten minutes pass before she tosses her charcoal down with finality. She’s quite proud of her finished product and shows it to him. He grabs the sketchpad from her hands and examines it, his thumb brushing over the portrait reverently.

“It’s amazing, Clarke,” he compliments her quietly and she nearly blushes. She’s never been great at receiving compliments on her art, maybe because it's always been so personal to her.

“Can I?”he asks, moving the page for permission to look. Perhaps it's her pre-coffee fog, or maybe something more, but she nods without thinking.

“Seriously,” he says when he comes across a landscape of the park she had done. She spent the entire morning on it when she drew it, “These are really good. Why aren’t you doing it professionally or something?”

She scoffs, “They aren’t that good.”

He sits up at that, completely comfortable being naked in front of her, having her sketchpad the only thing covering his lower region. It’s a funny sight, but the laughter dies in her throat. He’s looking at her like she holds the sky and the moon and it’s fucking terrifying.

“I told you, they're amazing. You’re amazing.”

She feels heat rise in her cheeks and has to look away, the intensity of it all making her slightly uncomfortable. She knows she's good but it's still strange to hear people say it. She's still not looking at him when his breath hitches.

“Wow, this one is really good.” He breathes and when she sees which one he's talking about, she feels like she might throw up. It's one closer to the front of the sketch pad, one she drew not long after Wells’ death. It's him at the wheel of his car, his soft smile and kind eyes.

“Who is he?” Bellamy asks and there is nothing but genuine curiosity. He has no idea, maybe thinks it's a former boyfriend or something. Just wonders who one of her subjects was. He flips the page and there is another. And another. She can't breathe.

“Clarke?” He asks and she hadn't even realized she had begun gasping for air. Fuck. Fuck. It's been so long since she's had one of these.

She shakes her head at him but he lays the sketch pad down and crawls over to her. She lets him pull her to his chest and stroke her hair, “It's okay, you're okay.”

She's trying to take deep breaths but they're shallow and raspy.

“Breathe with me,” he commands and begins taking long, deep breaths. She listens, tries to follow. His hand is stroking her hair softly and she tries to focus. She's here with Bellamy, he just asked a question. Just an innocent question. Get a grip, Griffin.

It takes a couple of minutes but she feels her heartbeat slow down, her breathing even out. He's patient with her, holding her close even though she knows this position can't be comfortable for him. When she pulls away, she finds it hard to look at him. She's embarrassed because her entire facade had been wrecked. Now he's seen her, seen her greatest weakness. Seem her vulnerability.

“Sorry about that,” she whispers, scooting to the edge of the bed, “I...just...sorry.”

“Hey,” he plays a hand in between her shoulder blades and rubs soothingly, “I've been there, don't worry about it. I'm sorry I asked,”

“You shouldn't be,” she says without thinking. She pauses for a moment. She never wanted to cross this line with him. With anyone, really. But she just had a fucking panic attack in front of him. He probably thinks she's crazy, especially knowing that it was because of a sketch. And at this point, maybe this is what she needs. Maybe she needs to talk about it because lord knows keeping it pent up isn't exactly healthy.

“You don't have to talk about it,” he tells her firmly, “Don't feel like you do.”

She takes a shaky breath, “I want to, I think.”

She grabs the sketch pad from the bed and runs her fingertips along the portrait. This could be therapeutic. She trusts him.

“He was my best friend,” she says softly. She doesn't want to look at him, it's easier not to. Just like talking into an empty space and he just so happens to be listening, “He died this past year. He died and it was my fault.”

She tells him the entire sob story. About the party, about walking in on Finn and Raven. She leaves out most of the grueling details of the accident, but she tells him of survivors guilt. She knows he gets it in a twisted way.

“They thought I wouldn't be able to walk again,” she scoffs at that, “It feels fucked up. Like not only did I live but made a full recovery. At least if I hadn't recovered, it would feel like I was punished in some way.”

To his credit, he listened to the entire story without interruption. He kept his hand on her back as he did, but this time he responds quickly, “It's not your fault, Clarke.”

She almost smiles at that, especially knowing his own guilt often weighs him down, “I know that. Most days.”

He's thoughtful for a moment, “Is that why you don't drink?”

Pointless to lie about it now, isn't it? She nods, “I can't drink the pain away. Believe me I've tried.”

“We all cope in our own ways,” he replies, “But for what it's worth, I'm happy you don't use alcohol to do it.”

No. She uses people. It brings a whole new guilt to the equation. But they're having an intimate conversation now, might as well clear the table.

“But you're happy I used you?”

It's quiet for a moment, almost too quiet. She thinks maybe she overstepped, revealed too much and now he's going to take off on her. But suddenly he laughs, soft and she turns to face him.

“I can't exactly be mad at that,” he tells her when she gives him a confused look, “I was doing the same thing.”

It's not a shocking revelation, yet she's surprised to hear it all the same. But then she actually cracks a smile as well, “We’re just two peas in a fucking pod aren't we?”

They fall into a comfortable silence. She feels lighter now, somehow. Talking about everything was hard but cathartic. Needed. For the first time she thinks someone might get it, and Bellamy does. He knows pain and loss. He knows guilt, but most of all, he doesn't judge her for any of it. It feels good.

“Thank you,” she says, finally turning to him with a soft smile.

He picks the sketch pad up and flips through it some more, “Anytime, and seriously, these are all amazing. Your friend would be proud of you.”

She takes the sketchpad from him and climbs into his lap, giving him a deep kiss. His hands wrap around her instinctively, “I appreciate you saying that.”

He smiles, “And you can draw me like one of your french girls anytime.”

“Nice,” she giggles into his neck grateful for the natural change into their usual banter, “Quoting one of your least favorite movies.”

“All I said is that it wasn’t entirely accurate in how it sank,” he sighs, clearly perturbed by the way James Cameron chose to wreck the boat. The funny thing is, he really does get upset about it sometimes.

“I seriously can’t stand you,” she tells him with a shake of her head and he laughs, sliding his hand up the back of her shirt to rest on her back. She doesn't flinch this time.

“Don’t lie, Princess,” the old nickname falling easily off his tongue, a teasing lilt to it. She leans up and kisses him, pressing herself into him.

“I hate you,” she sighs when he begins to run his lips over her exposed neck, “You’re the worst.”

“Mmmm,” he mumbles, pulling his shirt off her, leaving her fully exposed once more. His hands travel over her slowly, like they’re trying to memorize every inch of her. She threads her fingers into his hair, raking her fingernails over his neck, something she knows drives him crazy.

“I hate you, too,” he states before pulling her into a slow kiss.

It’s a strange exchange, and somewhere deep in her mind she knows they don’t mean it. In fact, it’s like they’re trying to tell each other something without saying it. They weren’t supposed to fall in love, but she's never been one to follow rules.

*

Clarke can’t shake the feeling that something is off. Her mom returns home and seems tired, but more than that she seems sad. She takes the rest of the week off to spend time with Clarke, leaving her ability to do much else limited. She wants to see Bellamy, but she tells herself they need a break. He needs a break, though he makes no indication of it. He texts her more frequently, even asking how her day is going with her mom. He doesn't know much, but knows their relationship is strained and awkward at best.

But her mom is putting in an effort. She's offered to take her to a baseball game, knowing Clarke had always been a fan and they actually have fun together. Turns out her mom isn't completely clueless when it comes to sports. She even helps order her textbooks online with no mention of her course schedule and it's lack of biology classes. She's happy that they're trying to build some semblance of a relationship but her gut is telling her it isn't right. She tries to ask if she's okay, and she pulls out her Dr. GRIFFIN voice and explains she's simply exhausted.

She manages to sneak away at the end of the week and finds herself at Bellamy's house. He pulls her into a hug when he opens the door and she knows exactly what he's saying. He missed her. Miller hangs out for awhile before drifting off to bed, requesting they keep it down that night. She blushes and curls into Bellamy’s side, fixing her attention on the move they're watching.

“I can't tonight,” she buries her face in his shoulder once Miller leaves the room.

“Hmm?” his attention is focused on the big budget fight scene. Marvel is his guilty pleasure, she's discovered.

“Sex…” she says sheepishly, “It's..I’m on my period.”

He finally turns to focus on her and rolls his eyes, playfully poking her in the ribs, “That's it. Get out. How dare you?”

She presses her hand against his forehead and gives it a small push with a laugh, feeling instantly less embarrassed about the whole thing.

“There was a time where we used to hang out without the sex, Clarke,” he pulls her into his lap and she finds her favorite crook in neck to rest. Her body relaxes instantly.

“I don't recall,” she mumbles. Her eyes fall closed listening to the sound of his heartbeat. His hand is tracing idle circles on her back and it feels like everything is right in the world.

*

It doesn't take long for reality to hit her like a bucket of cold water. She’s eating breakfast with her mom when he sends her a text about an art contest and tells her she should enter. He even offers to be her model. She sends him back something snarky, complete with the eye roll emoji. He responds instantly. Bellamy: Just encouraging you to follow your dreams, Princess.

It's like the winds is knocked out of her when she Reads it.

She fucking loves him.

She doesn’t come to the conclusion on her own. It comes to her in flashes but when she finally meets up with Harper for their neglected coffee and walk meet up, she finally realizes the extent of it all. They’re talking about her and Roma, who she’s been dating since their hookup on Gina’s birthday.

“I’m just not cut out for one night stands,” Harper concludes.

“They aren’t for everyone,” she consoles the girl on this and they laugh about it. It’s when Harper asks about Bellamy that things become serious.

“I know you guys are hooking up,” she chooses her words carefully, “But...I don’t know, Clarke, it seems like a lot more than you all are making it out to be.”

Her heart thuds in her chest, “What do you mean?”

You know what she means, a small voice tells her. It’s the same one she’s been trying to ignore for weeks now.

“I’ve never seen Bellamy this way with anyone,” she admits, watching Clarke warily, “I mean, the way he acts around you. He’s hooked up with plenty of people before, but nothing like this.”

“Like this?” she echoes.

“He’s...I don't know,” she says, frustration evident in her voice, “Just be careful, okay? I know you all are just supposed to be having fun or whatever, but it feels like more than that.”

She doesn’t say anything, instead picking at the coffee cup in her hands and doing her best to keep her breathing even. It doesn’t surprise her. In fact, she knows Harper is right. IT does feel like more than that and it has for a long time. The lust aspect had been their primary driving force in the beginning. They pleasured each other and were comfortable enough to continue doing it. But then it got personal, on both sides. She wants to know more about him and she wants him to know more about her. She can’t pinpoint the exact moment her feelings changed. Maybe they’ve been there all along, buried deep in denial and her want to just let loose for the summer. This wasn’t the plan. And yet it happened.

“Thanks, Harper,” she tells the girl, hoping she sounds neutral. While Harper might be right, she definitely doesn’t want her to know that. It’s a conversation she needs to have with Bellamy. She’s going to tell him how she feels because it’s the right thing to do. They’re supposed to end it because she got feelings, but she’s hoping maybe they can change that. Maybe he feels the same and they won’t have to end it at all. Maybe they can start a new beginning.

Now, all she has to do is figure out the right time.

August 2013

The right time never comes. He ends up going to visit his sister the last week of July and she’s actually happy about it. It gives her time to figure out what to say, how to approach the subject in the best way she can. She knows she’s probably overthinking it, it’s what she does, but she has to tell him. She knows the first thing she should do is lay out all the basic stuff first.

“I’m Clarke Griffin, I’m 18, and I have an irrational fear of getting attached to people but I got attached to you.”

That’s what she wants to say but she knows there has to be a better way to phrase it, though he tends to be more personable when she’s up front with him. She didn’t intend to come to Boston and meet someone like him, but fate had other plans. Fate is a stone cold bitch.

She feels like she finally has it figured out by the time he returns and asks him to meet her in front of the library that Monday night when he returns. SHe’s hoping if she tells him in public, he’ll be less liable to freak out. Rejection is easier to handle in public than private, in her opinion. She’s less likely to let her emotions get the best of her in public, that is.

She never makes it to the library that night. As she’s getting ready in her room, she hears her mom come through the front door. It’s a strange time for her to be getting home from work, normally working a solid 12 hour shift, at least. It’s only now coming up on her usual eighth hour. She walks into the living room and freezes. Standing in the foyer is none other than Jake Griffin.

“Dad?”

He gives her a tired smile and holds out his arms. She runs into them, feeling overwhelmed by how much she really did miss him. She knows he’s been working a lot lately and hasn’t been able to talk to him as much.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, her voice muffled by his shoulder. It feels a little bonier than she remembers.

“Came to see you,” he tells her as he pulls back, “I missed you, kiddo.”

She should have realized something was wrong, the way her mom watched the exchange with tears in her eyes, the way Jake Griffin, former elite soccer player and college wrestler, seemed so fragile. Their reunion is short lived.

“We need to talk, Clarke,” he tells her softly when she notices her mom standing at the door. She follows them into the living room and sits down. Her dad keeps her hand firmly in his, rubbing soothing circles into her knuckles.

“Is everything okay?” she questions when they sit down, worry lacing every inch of her voice. She feels like she’s on the edge of something, a ledge or a cliff, and is close to being dropped off. Her head is swimming.

“I’m sick, baby.”

Things become hazy after that. He tells her something about having headaches and finally going to the doctor after she left for Boston in May. He was diagnosed with a malignant brain tumor. Inoperable. The doctors gave him six months to live, and that’s with treatment.

“They’re wrong,” she cries, refusing to believe that he could possibly be so close to the end, “There has to be something they can do.”

Her mom finally speaks, “There isn’t. We’ve gotten multiple opinions.”

She feels anger start to swell within her, a fire ready to burn everything in its wake, “You knew?”

Jake sighs, “She came to visit me a couple of weeks ago. Took me to some fancy specialists she knew. They confirmed it.”

She stands from the couch, her entire body beginning to shake, “You can’t...this can’t.”

“Clarke,” he stands, his voice cracking with her name, “Look at me.”

Her frantic eyes find his own, her own blue irises staring back at her, “I need you.”

He holds her in his arms as she cries, and it feels like the ground is slowly cracking beneath her. Her father is dying and there isn’t anything anyone can do. She can’t be sure how long they sit like that, him cradling her to his chest like a child, her mom sitting next to her, a hand firmly on her knee. It’s the first time they’ve been together as a family in five years and it’s because one of them is dying.

When the tears no longer fall, when her brain feels numb and he body exhausted, she leans up.

“I want to stay with you,” she tells him, her mind already made up, “Every step of the way.”

She tells him she’ll defer school for a year, so she can go to every appointment and take him wherever he needs to go. She wants to spend as much time as possible with him because on day, he won’t be there anymore. Her parents try to talk her out of it, try to tell her school will be the best thing for her but she won’t listen.

“I won’t be able to concentrate on fucking anatomy while you lay at home withering away,” she says bluntly and they don’t argue anymore. It’s late when she finally shuffles into her room and climbs into bed. Her mom is planning on taking him to a few more doctors tomorrow, just to confirm there are no treatment options available for him to at least give him more time. Even despite their divorce, she can tell her mom still cares for him deeply and she is just as distraught about his death as she is.

His death. It’s inevitable for everyone, it’s part of living. But it hurts all the same. How is she supposed to move on with life knowing the most important person in it won’t be there? She can’t fathom it.

*

She has four missed calls and seventeen text messages when she wakes up. She had turned her phone on silent before passing out last night, reluctant to talk to anyone or even hear her phone go off. All of the missed calls are from Bellamy, no doubt worried she got kidnapped on the way to the library. They always joke about it, though it’s a pretty fucked up thing to joke about. The texts are from a flurry of people. Raven drunk texting about her stupid boss. The others are from Bellamy and his friends. Even Miller all just asking if she’s okay, probably in the hopes that she’ll respond to one of them and they can conclude she simply ditched Bellamy and is still alive. She doesn’t feel alive.

She opens the texts to get rid of the notification. Miller asking if she's good. Harper asking her to call her. Bellamy freaking out in his typical fashion.

5:45pm: I’m here. You close? 5:57 pm: Tried to call you. You okay? 6:15pm: seriously clarke, you’re never this late at least let me know you’re alive 7 pm: if you don’t answer me i’m coming by your house 7:03pm: Miller said that’s really creepy and I shouldn’t so I won’t. But please answer me so I can stop thinking you're dead. We joked one too many times about the kidnapping thing. 9pm: i’m worried. Please be okay. Please.

She doesn’t answer him. She gets out of bed and wanders out into the living room. Her parents are awake, chatting over a cup of coffee like it’s just another normal day. It isn’t. There won’t be a normal day ever again.

* It's an appropriately gloomy day in Boston, rain constantly coming down as morning fades into afternoon. They're sitting in the waiting room of her mom's hospital. Her dad is being looked over, no doubt being told the same thing he's been told four different times. Her hopes aren't high and she feels strangely empty. Notifications continue to pop up on her phone and she turns it on silent. She's almost ready to launch it out the window.

She isn't sure how long she stays there but it's dinner time when they shuffle into the apartment. Her parents ask her what she wants for dinner. She just goes to bed. Her phone is off and things are so quiet.

She cries herself to sleep wondering how, when things seem to be getting better, they could possibly get worse? * They book the earliest flight home, which isn't until tomorrow evening, it feels so far away. They talk with her mom about care and the woman desperately tries to convince her ex-husband to get treatment. Clarke listens for approximately a half hour before she stands abruptly from the table.

“Clarke?” Her mom calls. Without thinking she slips on her shoes, grabs her bag, and heads out the door.

It's crazy to her how normal things felt for the last few weeks, how life seemed to be on track and the grief began to feel natural rather than suffocating. It's not fair, not to her. Not to her father. Not to Bellamy. Especially not to him.

She's at his house before she even realizes where she's going. It feels fucked up to show up after almost four days of radio silence. He probably thought she was dead, or ghosting him. He didn't deserve it but she didn't know what else to do. Doesn't know what else to do. He deserves more than some girl who fucks her way through grief. Who can't give him anything more. The saddest part is that she could have. She was so willing. But now? Everything is different now.

Before she can think anymore, she knocks softly. She probably should have at least texted first to make sure he's home. It's late evening and he's typically off work by now, but he doesn't always come home after work. She wouldn't blame him for not answering either. But she can't leave without saying goodbye, no matter how terrible a goodbye it may be.

She knocks one more time and is about to call it when the door opens. He looks a mess, hair sticking up wildly and eyes red. The bags under them tell her he hasn't been sleeping and she's prays it wasn't because of her. She thought he might be angry. Not...distraught.

He looks her up and down like he's trying to assess her well being. He runs a hand through his hair nervously, “I called the hospital to find you, thinking you were hurt or something and then I realized I don't even know your last name. Or your birthday…”

She doesn't respond, tries to ignore the way her hurt thuds painfully in her chest. She forces a wall in place and he laughs bitterly,

“I'm happy you're okay,” he says stiffly and then let's out a bitter laugh, “I just wished you would have told me something. Even if it was ‘hey Bellamy, I don't want to see you any more.’”

She didn't want to hurt him. Never was that her intention, hell, she made a list of rules to prevent this from happening, but it did anyway. Fuck, she wants nothing more than to crumble in his arms and have him tell her everything will be okay. But it's not fair, to either of them. Not fair to him that he have to spend his time trying to fix something, someone that's broken or to invest himself who can't fully reciprocate. Not when she has to worry about everything else.

So she holds it all in.

“I'm leaving,” she tells him flatly. It scares her, how her voice sounds so hollow. Like the flame within her has been extinguished. In a way, it feels like it has.

He seems taken aback by this, his arms fall to his side and he stands a little straighter,

“When?”

“Tomorrow.”

He probably thinks she's known this all along, that's she's springing it on him because she doesn't care. It's best to let him think this way. Any chance they may have had is gone now. She has to be with her dad, she can't let herself worry about relationships especially one that wouldn't work out anyway. Distance never works.

“Jesus, Clarke,” he sighs, running his hand over his face, “You disappear for a week and show up at my door to tell me that?”

She says nothing.

“You don't even care, do you? He laughs bitterly and this is what she expected. He has a right to be angry and she deserves to hear it.

She cares. More than she ever wanted to. More than she should. But she can't tell him that. It'll only make it hurt worse.

“Tell me then,” he says and he grabs a her shoulder forcing her toward him, his hand is gently tilting her chin so she's looking at him, “Tell me you don't care and you can walk away right now. I won't chase you.”

“I don't care.” She tries but even to her she sounds pathetic. Small and unconvincing. Her wall is too transparent.

He leans in and presses his forehead against hers, “I don't believe you.”

He captures her lips in a searing kiss. She doesn't respond at first, willing herself to pull away and stop making things more painful than they already are. But then he wraps his arms around her, cradling her to his chest and she feels safe. She sags into him, twining her arms around his neck.

It all comes back to the idea that she shouldn't do this with him, but she finds herself out of control. With one kiss, he manages to help her forget for a moment. Forget that the next six months will be the hardest of her life. Forget that she's being faced with impossible choices and awful results. And that's what she needs, she decides. She needs to forget and if it means getting to bask in that feeling she had before all this, she'll do it.

He makes love to her that night. She knows it. It's in the way he takes his time feeling her, attentive to every inch of skin, delicate in movement. The way he tries to memorize her, the planes of her back, the dip of her hips, the curve of her ass. He runs his fingertips along the scar on her back bravely, eye locking into hers.

“You’re perfect,” he whispers, “Every fucking inch of you.”

It's powerful and it makes her want to break down because she doesn't deserve him and she is just going to break his heart. He deserves the moon and the stars and she can never give it to him.

He tells her how good she feels, how beautiful and amazing and perfect she is. He tells her how much he wants her, he doesn't think about anyone else. Anything else. He tells her how much he cares about her in so many ways and yet avoids telling her that directly so as to protect whatever is left of their initial agreement, thought they both know the agreement has been meaningless for sometime. He's still trying to respect her choices while simultaneously telling her how fucked he is.

She leaves after he's well asleep, after enjoying the last few moments with him. In another life maybe this could have worked. Maybe they could have made the distance happen, maybe they would have failed. She won't know because life is funny sometimes. The timing is wrong, reality is wrong. She's happy to have spent time this bubble with him.

“I love you,” she whispers into the night, happy to get it out there just once even if he can't hear her. It's better that he doesn't.

She doesn't have it in her to cry herself to sleep that night. There are too many battles to come for her to exhaust herself so early. She'll hold on to the feeling, the memories Bellamy has given her for the rest of her life, or at least, when things become overwhelming. She hopes he finds the happiness he so deserves,

She turns her phone off before going to bed,

*

She's on a plane the following day, holding her Father's hand and flying into what will, undoubtedly, be the hardest months of her short life.

[beingstubbornlyme]

In order to save the republic, @realdonaldtrump must succeed.

Yes, Donald Trump, the improbably 45th president is the Republic's final hope, and yes, I feel like Princess Leia as she flawlessly executed her iconic line, "This is our most desperate hour. Help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi. You're my only hope." Now, before all you never trump jackasses, NTJ's, start losing your shit, rolling your eyes & pounding the keyboard to refute my claim, can you at least calm the $@#% down & read the rest of the post? 

[muttering] Dumbasses.

I am not placing President Trump on a pedestal, claiming he's a god or anything of the sort. He's the 45th flawed man who has been leader of our stumbling nation. I say stumbling because we still have the chance to be great again, but we're close to stumbling off of a cliff. Unfortunately, this isn't gonna be one of those falls that we love to watch on repeat, pausing only to stop the pain of laughing so hard. No, this fall from power will be in the Roman Empire, British Empire & countless other "unstoppable, globally dominant" empires that fell & never regained a fraction of their once glory type of fall.

The reason is a three syllable, very simple, powerful, once you lose it, it's damn near impossible to get back, reason: con-fi-dence. Right now, the American public's confidence in our republic is at an alarming low, and for MANY damn good reasons. 

Insane levels of debt, and not because the government doesn't take in enough money in taxes and fees; corruption in every level of government; political figures getting away with obvious crimes because they are connected to other political figures; politicians writing laws that only apply to us peons (eg. #Obamacare being the most egregious example, but there are many); politicians that lie straight to our faces and do not even fear the consequences because their big money buddies ensure they will get re-elected and there are enough stupid voters to ensure they're right; there are two parties, but it's now clear that they are really just ONE party; surveillance has gotten out of control; nearly ALL of the major industries we deal with are monopolies, crushing any innovation and TRUE competition; our military is being overrun with liberal, globalist, politicians who are willing to let certain officials run their social construct experiments on the last respected, trusted institution Americans know of; public officials and government workers feel, and act, more like masters than OUR servants; whenever we hear "comprehensive" we KNOW we're about to be screwed; the mainstream media colludes with one party to push propaganda instead of report the facts, and on and on and on it goes. This list could go on for at least another paragraph, but you get the point ... shit is a mess.

All of these things are the reason candidate Donald Trump and all of his missteps won, and honestly, was the best choice, BY FAR. If you were objective, it wasn't even close. Trump was the ONLY candidate who bonded with the people, listened to their complaints, talked directly and authentically, was entertaining (yes, that DOES matter, even though NJT's act like it has NEVER mattered! They're so annoying.), gave voice to the people's biggest concerns (jobs, immigration & the direction of our beloved country) and most importantly, called out the power establishment, not only in America, but globally. I mean c'mon, how many times did the guy rail against "China!", said in his most unique way? How many times did he call out big business, DC lobbyist, the Bush family, & their dynasty that has left some pretty awful scars, lil Marco, lyin' Ted, low energy Jeb, mccain (sorry, but I will NOT capitalize his name! He does NOT deserve that respect, not even after serving in the military! He has been that despicable as a politician!) and allll their lil buddies? All. The. Damn. Time. If Trump was campaigning, he was bitch slappin' these fools, and with good cause! They are coconspirators in this crime against the republic, enriching themselves at OUR expense. These fools act so damn smart, yet their record of failure makes the Cleveland Brown's look like a well run, successful football team. So what in the hell have they done to feel so confidant about? I'll tell you what: they have been able to get away with lying to us & becoming millionaires in the process.

We were fed up, and along came someone unafraid to give voice to that frustration with name recognition AND a long career of success. You could not have scripted a more perfect candidate, contrary to the "educated" chuckleheads in DC & NY. (Don't get me started on these DUMBASSES!! That is a whole article in and of itself.)  So this perfectly timed candidate was able to capture people's last bit of hope and let of an exasperated "FI-NALLY!" This candidate gave them hope that someone would go to DC and give them back THEIR government, fight these "swamp creatures", clean up the cess pool, get the checkbook into order, hire competent people, keep your promises, call out the fools trying to screw us and get rid of the shit left by the previous tenant, obama. 

This is why Trump voters are so loyal. This is why it's so important that President Trump not break his core promises. So far, he has been great on keeping his promises, but there is some very concerning whispering coming out regarding amnesty, and no wall, as of late. This would not only break his tough stance on illegal immigration, but also a promise made so often, and so exciting, that I think I saw a girl with a "Build that wall!" tramp stamp tattoo. Americans want a damn border wall on the southern border, PERIOD.

If Trump were to break this promise, the last bit of trust and faith would be lost. Imagine cheating on your partner, being busted multiple times and them giving you ONE MORE chance to get your shit together, and you blow it .. again. There is no chance you're gonna stay together, and there is also a good chance they're gonna stop dating for a long time. The disappointment, betrayal, loss of hope and pain the voters would feel if President Trump decides to join the swamp would destroy the full faith and credit of our government, something necessary to govern effectively. If trust is broken, people will not feel bad about lying on their taxes, paying employees under the table, voting turnout goes down, things get worse, the votrs mood responds to things getting worse, which makes things worse, ... see the spiral downward ... and at what point do things reach a dangerous tipping point? Let's hope America never gets close to finding out. 

The mood of the country, and the optimism, has picked up with the victory of Donald Trump. No one can deny that. No one can deny that the mood and faith of the public is also very important to any successful, lasting, stable government, so even if you're not a Trump voter, you should be rooting for him to succeed, because if he doesn't, your guy, or your party, will be left with a bigger pile of shit, and there won't be anything for them to steal. So, if it is even for simply selfish reasons, everyone should be rooting for President Trump to Make America Great Again.

[riotdragonx]

The Shepard Chronicles

OoO( 1 )OoO

2174  CE, September 25 ESD - 1725 EST –  Taiyuan  , Shanxi

It had already been a stressful day for Zannis, the turian ambassador to Alliance Space. As soon as he landed on the planet, looks of despise and hatred were immediately aimed towards him, and the army of accountants and treasurers from Palaven. The scar left on the planet by their kind was still fresh, something that was immediately apparent as he looked around at all the seething glares directed at them. As the tall Palaven native stepped from the airbus that had flown them to the meeting site, he was immediately assaulted by a wall of sound as protesters shouted from across a security barricade. A lot of them were completely belligerent, shouting curses, slurs, and even throwing food items across the barricade at the airbus.

But he knew that was going to happen when coming here. He knew there would be resistance, not only to his presence on the hallowed battleground that was formerly occupied by his kind, but to the very idea of reparations for their actions during the Relay 314 incident. But it didn't bother him. He was made the turian ambassador to the Alliance for a reason, and this was it. Looking out over the signs people were holding, most of them were in a human language that even he didn't understand. After reading up on the incident before his appointment to his current position, he made a note that the majority of the people on the colony hailed from an Terran region known as the People's Republic of China. The strange symbols and curved, almost artistic looking language must be their local language. He even managed to spot a sign that only made him even more concerned; one bearing the image of a small avian animal known as a chicken. Shaking the image from his head, he turned away from the crowd and stepped towards the large capital building of the city Taiyuan.

Once inside, he was among humans who knew what he was here for. But despite that, he could still feel tensions rising as he and the five other turians following him made their way down the cavernous hall that his people once painted with the colors of the Hierarchy. Despite the rivalry between the two races, he was determined to see this through and give these people what they deserved. As he walked, he was stopped by a human, who held out his hand in greeting. The turian stopped and looked down at the hand, before reaching forward awkwardly and grasping it. The human shook his hand firmly before offering to lead him to the conference room. The media were everywhere in the lobby of the lavishly decorated building. Though they weren't using flashes, he could easily spot at least ten of them that were taking pictures of him. No doubt sending it to their sources back on Earth and on the Citadel. Soon, his face would be stamped on the screen of every tabloid in the galaxy, insuring that he would be stripped of his honor as a turian. "The Human Sympathizer," they would read after they went live. "The turian who payed off humanity, who sold the honor of his own people." Knowing he was likely to be the target of more than just human aggressors in the future, he still walked on. This was what was right, even if it painted a target on his back.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the human opened a large set of double doors and allowed his people inside. Already inside were several security guards, armed with the usual shock batons and body armor. In the memo, he was assured that mass effect propelled weapons weren't being allowed inside, or anywhere near the building. Even the security had to use old school hand-to-hand weapons due to the fact that the turian couldn't be assured that the entire security detail didn't still hate his race enough not to shoot when given the opportunity. At the table were several humans in suits worthy of the Citadel Council. Six of them sat around a circular table, taking up effectively one side of the surface. Breathing deeply, the turian pulled a chair back and sat down, his compatriots following his lead.

OoOoO

2174  CE, Harvest Season 22 PSD - 2228 PST – Karkarus Estate - Cipritine, Palaven

He had been on edge since the beginning of the season. As soon as the offer came up, he approved it with hesitancy. Both because the potential for something going wrong was extremely high, and because he was still of the opinion that after the blow dealt at Relay 314, his people paid more than enough with their lives, and the damage their fleet received from the human onslaught. But even his brother in arms, Sparatus, was not immune to peer pressure from the other Council members. So he must be the diplomat, and entertain the humans in their request for compensation. Despite his aversion to the concept, he never half-assed a job. Setting his pride aside, he selected someone who knew much more about the incident than he did as the ambassador.

Even with all the precautions he took, the entire thing gave him a feeling of dread. Which was why, when he noticed his home communicator ringing that night, he felt his crop tighten. Groaning, he set aside the book he was reading and grabbed the comm unit. This device was the one restricted for emergencies only, and it going off on this specific night couldn't be a coincidence. Finally, he answered it. "Fedorian here."

"Tevarin, it's Ming." came the voice from the other side.

Reaching back, the Primarch rubbed his neck. "Governor Ming...I was hoping not to have to hear from you on this line. What is it?" he asked as the human.

"A small sect from an anti-alien group known as the Sons of Adam have entered the building and have taken all of the negotiators hostage." said the governor, getting straight to the point.

"You assured me when I agreed to the summit being held on Shanxi that they would be properly protected." said the turian as he stood out of his chair angrily, staring at the features of the human on the communicator.

"We denied security accelerator weapons to prevent any itchy trigger fingers. It turns out that the Sons of Adam had been smuggling weapons onto the planet for the better part of the month, and the guards weren't able to fight back as a result. I've already contacted Captain Hackett with our Alliance fleet. They're sending infiltrators into the building to neutralize the threat." finished the man, his accent removed as it was filtered through the communicator's translator.

"I'm going to send a squadron of my people too." said the Primarch as he searched through his communicator for the correct number.

"I don't think that would be wise..." said Governor Ming as he donned a look of concern. "Having turians on Shanxi was enough to incite protest. Imagine the backlash if armed turians in military armor were seen."

But Tevarin glared. "Your assurance that they would be safe ensured that they were captured. I'm sending a squad of our special forces there to assist the Alliance." he snapped. Chen Ming sighed and reached up to rub his head in frustration, immediately killing the threatening fire within Fedorian. "I understand the concern you have with armored turians coming to Shanxi. But the best thing we can do right now is partner up to show people that we will not tolerate this kind of hostility among our people. Maybe if people see them working together, they'll start believing such a peace can exist."

Ming stared at the turian for a long moment, before finally nodding. "Agreed. I'll have a human ship ready with a trusted pilot docked on the Citadel. It will carry your squad to our rally point discreetly. In the meantime, I'll have security clear out a few blocks around so that nobody sees the teams. Don't want anyone tipping them off." said the human as he ran a hand through his graying hair. "Tevarin, I would highly appreciate it of your military kept its target sights on the extremists."

"The same courtesy would be appreciated from yours. I'll call you as soon as they arrive on the Citadel." finished Primarch Fedorian as Governor Ming nodded, then cut the communication. Tossing aside the device, Tevarin immediately pulled up the number for the Legate.

OoOoO

 2174 CE, September 25 ESD - 2252 EST – Taiyuan , Shanxi

The shuttle had landed smoothly behind one of the many office buildings situated around the capital building. The entire flight, they flew low to the ground, using the other structures in the area as cover in order to keep from being seen by the insurgents that now occupied the main site. As they landed, the commander of their unit, a man known only as "Spider" by anyone besides his unit, began explaining the mission in detail.

He stood from his seat, easily too tall for the compact shuttle that they were currently occupying. The newbie to the group, a fresh recruit, who had been picked up and adopted by the small intel detachment after only a year of service, stayed in her seat and looked up at him. She admired the man for many reasons. His record, which was highly classified, was immaculate. Hundreds of infiltration and reconnaissance missions under his belt, zero screw ups, and a record so clean that the Alliance brass barely knew who he actually was. He was a ghost, pure and simple, and he taught her everything she knew. Now, it was her turn to prove it to him. Sitting beside her was another, more grizzled veteran of the squad. An aged man by the name of Dukh. She hadn't seen much of his work, and he aimed to keep it that way.

Directly across from her, seated on the other side of the leader was a silent, dark-skinned man who looked as if he was deep in thought. Despite her own skills, he was supposedly the leading tech expert on the team. There was a joke that was once made about him, saying that if he wanted to, he could rob every bank and credit union on the Citadel blind and retire without a trace. And while they all had a good chuckle, she could sense a small tone of seriousness underneath the mirth. This man, again, was highly unknown to her. Besides his given name, which was Echo, he was a blank slate. He had also taught her plenty about how to improve her electronic sabotage and infiltration abilities.

A month after she joined the fairly unspoken of squad, she earned her own nickname. The name Torch was now what all of her current comerades referred to her as. She wasn't aware if it was simply due to her red hair, or the fact that the remains of any system she attacks might as well be on fire. But she liked it regardless. And despite the nickname, and their comradeship, she didn't know any of them. She didn't even know if they knew each other. The only reason she knew anything about Spider was because of her initiation. As her first act in the squad, she was required to find and crack a highly classified document from any nation on Earth. All of them were given warning ahead of time, but that didn't matter. Using her special skills, she managed to dive head first into an Alliance Network in Vancouver and uncover a mission relating to the destruction of a batarian cruiser that was drifting a bit too close to Alliance space. The newspapers reported on it, calling it a catastrophic failure. And even the intel received from transmissions between Khar'Shan and Camala refers to the the incident as an accident. The only thing that was noticeable about the classified information was that the name 'Spider' was attached to it. When she presented the information to him, he seemed both mildly impressed, and annoyed at the same time.

Ever since, she was a member of the group. Though the group was hardly ever together. They mostly did solo missions out in the Verge, filtering information about the batarians back to Alliance intel. Or even attaining assets who tried to flee from the harsh caste-based society that was the Batarian home planet. But this, this was serious. It could spark a war, riots, outrage, and high tensions with humans on the Citadel. So the group came together.

After the quick explanation of the situation, the redhead stood from her seat. Spider opened the door to the aircar and allowed them out. He had mentioned inside the car that they would be working with a team from the Hierarchy's own forces. There were four of them standing outside their own vehicle as well, three taller ones with one about the size of Dukh on the end. This particular figure, outfitted in black and red armor with a black face shield, was staring directly at her. Taking her helmet, the lieutenant slid it on before walking with the others over to the Hierarchy team.

Immediately, Spider stepped forward and introduced them. Despite the situation, it was clear that nobody among the humans had any issues with the turians. Or if they did, they were keeping a straight face about it. "Glad to meet our turian counterparts." said the human commander as he stood before the tall alien at the head of their group. "I'm Spider, and back here we've got Dukh, Echo, and Torch."

The lead turian reached up and tapped the side of his helmet, making the faceplate turn from a solid black, to translucent. He then stared at Spider with a curious look on his face. "Is it common practice for humans to use nicknames?" asked the black-armored figure.

"Only when we want to separate our work selves from our real selves. We all have families to protect." said the human.

"Oddly inspiring." said the turian as he turned to his own crew. "We are with the 26th Armiger Legion, or more simply put, Ghosts. I'm Squadleader Tarkarian. Behind me are operatives Nikelik, Arondis, and Shevar." When he mentioned the name of the turian at the end, the woman turned and stared at the soldier once more, only to find that like their leader, they had undarkened their faceshield. From a once over look, she could tell just by the facial features on this turian that it was female. Despite her Xenolinguistics classes, she had never had the chance to encounter a turian woman. She had to say, she wasn't disappointed. "We were told that some of our negotiators are being held hostage inside the capital building here by a pro-human group. Given the likelihood of this turning into a bloodbath, we wanted to straight out ask if you even want us here."

"We have a choice in the matter?" asked Dukh, whose rough voice drew the attention of the four turians.

"Not exactly. We have to be here on orders regardless. But with respect from one infiltration unit to another, we don't want to tread on spikes. If you think you can handle this without us, all the better, and less chance of a catastrophic political cataclysm." finished Tarkarian as he stared back at Spider.

The tall man stood for a moment, staring at the turian with a curious smile on his face. "Let's make a deal. The side who takes out the most hostiles buys beer for the other." he said firmly.

Tarkarian let out a small chuckle and nodded. "There may be hope for you humans yet." he said as he turned to his squad. "That's fine, but we'll need to secure the negotiators first. Don't want them to get caught in the crossfire."

"Already on it." said Echo as he stepped forward. On his omnitool, the man brought up a holographic display of the inside of the building. "Already got the room spotted, just need to avoid the walkers and take out the two standing guard over the hostages."

"A spy drone?" asked the turian leader as he examined the map.

As the two continued with their planning, the turian woman grabbed her attention with a hand wave. Shepard looked over at the curiously tall figure, then saw her point to her omnitool. Getting the signal, the infiltrator brought up her own display, and connected their two helmets easily enough. "How are you with that Mantis?" asked Shevar, her voice clearly more feminine than the leader's.

"Pretty good. You?" asked Shepard as she spied a particularly nasty looking Punisher on the woman's back.

"Pretty good. Though I prefer to let my blades do the talking." replied the turian Ghost.

Shepard smiled inside her helmet. "That'll be interesting to see."

"Same goes for you. Can't wait to see you in action." she said as the two leaders finally concluded the meeting.

"Alright, ladies and gentlemen. Here's the plan..." said Spider as he used Echo's holo map to lay out their entrypoint.