terrifyingstories1

[terrifyingstories1]

you know, at bed time or whatever. /  ind. multi-muse with a variety of original, television, and lit-based characters. explored by tiffany  (1, 2, 3, 4).

[terrifyingstories1]

you know, at bed time or whatever. /  ind. multi-muse with a variety of original, television, and lit-based characters. explored by tiffany  (1, 2, 3, 4).

[terrifyingstories1]

you know, at bed time or whatever. /  ind. multi-muse with a variety of original, television, and lit-based characters. explored by tiffany  (1, 2, 3, 4).

[terrifyingstories1]

you know, at bed time or whatever. /  ind. multi-muse with a variety of original, television, and lit-based characters. explored by tiffany  (1, 2, 3, 4).

[terrifyingstories1]

@prolonglaughter​​​ sent: their parties were tasteful, if a little loud. 

‘tasteful’ isn’t a word elena is sure could be used to accurately describe the rager going on inside those doors, but luna’s sincerity is like honey oozing down her throat, leaving the laugh that follows smooth and filled with a surprising warmth. 

it’s an impressive feat - most of elena’s laughs are rather hollow these days, as much effort as she puts into warming up her vocal cords before she leaves her room for the day, practicing for perfect pitch (the girl who lost her parents has only one line, with just a few variations: i’m fine, thank you, she tells the mirror before turns toward the door, lingering for a moment more to steel herself for a day of convincing the world she means it). they never quite reach her eyes, and the only relief elena can find is that no one ever seems to notice. 

this one does, however, and she’s not quite sure how to handle that; it should be a victory, surely, but it frightens her to think what comes after victory, that it might be an isolated event. it’s that thought that prompts another sip of her beer, makes it almost tempting to head back inside - old elena would have loved it in there, soaked up all of the attention and bluster and noise, and maybe it would come back to her like muscle memory, like riding a bike, like driving a car. 

driving a car. she laughs again at the sick irony of that, but the bitterness has crept again, roughened up what the other girl’s earnestness had gentled to butter. 

it doesn’t sit right in her throat, and elena’s fingers slide down over her thighs and around her legs after sitting her beer beside her as if to hold herself together, mold all of these pieces of her that no longer have a place into some kind of recognizable shape - old elena and new, sad elena that doesn’t have the energy to pretend to be old elena anymore. she doesn’t know how effective it is, but she does know she doesn’t want to go back inside, that she’d rather luna’s genuineness soften something in her again.  "tasteful, huh?” elena asks with her own sincere warmth, finding the courage to continue, “hey, luna? do you mind if i sit out here with you?” 

[terrifyingstories1]

(  bellamy.  ) 

There’s a faint smirk on his lips when he finds her in the room, even if the wear in his stance appears obvious. Maybe it is since gina has a way of pulling a smile out of him, making his eyes shine in a way he hasn’t felt since he first got to the ground. There’s a weightlessness to their interactions that is surprisingly grounding, that make him feel as though he has roots here. He helped build Arkadia, yet nothing felt stable. Still reeling from the events at mount weather and Clarke’s departure ( abandonment, on his worst days ), he finds that every time he takes a step outside those walls he’s preparing for a fight. The grounders hadn’t honored their deal to help with mount weather because they had gotten a better offer. Why should he trust Lexa to keep the peace now? Lincoln didn’t even have a place with his own people, but bellamy started considering him to be one of his, and lincoln would always have a place in Arkadia.

Gina had started staying at his room when both discovered that the other didn’t like sleeping alone, but there is still lingering shock at the closeness between them. It feels more intimate curled up with her than it ever did the first few nights on the ground with any warm body beside him.

She’s right, though, and maybe that should annoy him but he finds himself more and more endeared by her tenacity and ability to read him with each passing day. He always admired the effort she put into her work but never anticipated the same scrutiny in her personal relationships. What he means to say is he never expected it to get this far.

Days spent with raven and her helped fill the empty spaces, moments where he thought he’d fall apart if he didn’t find something to do after weeks on the ground being constant fight to constant fight. The constant stimulation was good for him but he never tempered it with anything…until gina started to force him to. Gina had a tendency to calm whatever coursed through him that told him he needed to act, and on his best days, he started to see a life outside of constant battle, an identity outside of brother and friend. Irregardless, it gave him a sense of purpose that he craved, even if it was just sitting as Raven worked. He was taking care of Raven, and that was enough for him, and seeing Gina was an added bonus.

Her blunt nature is curtailed by her gentleness drew him in, and the smirk softens to a smile when he can see the worry in her eyes. He pulls the pendant out from his jacket as he removes it, placing it back in her hand and curling her fingers over it. After a few seconds of soaking up the warmth of her hand in his own, he pulls back just enough to sign what he hopes is I’m fine. The practice is good for him even if he feels the end goal is hopeless, and he’s too concentrated on his fingers to speak it as well.

It’s in the same breath that he allows his shoulders to droop because without the adrenaline pumping through his veins, he can feel the exhaustion take hold. “Someone has to.” He offers as an excuse. Someone has to take these shifts and even if the guard is growing, he knows the terrain and he trusts himself to carry the burden. Keeping his hands busy is just a lucky side effect because the real gratification comes from knowing his people are safe, knowing Gina is safe. “Why are you still up?”

gina’s not incapable of self-soothing, so she does. the raven she finds after her shift at the bar is frustrated and bleary-eyed, ripping through a knotted-up tangle of wires like they’ve committed some personal offense against her, but gina knows better - raven’s not likely to admit it, but she’s always especially agitated when a hunting or scouting trip or anything of this sort goes too long, and as much as gina wants to relieve the hard line of tension in her shoulders, there’s something comforting about the stab of empathy she feels for her, even if it is just that - a stab. they’re both in the same boat, she means, though gina’s perhaps more likely to wear her worry, even when it’s not something she can command. raven prefers to channel it into aggression something metal can be on the receiving end of, and gina knows not to push her before she’s ready; raven’s distrust of grounders runs much deeper than hers does, and though she has only bits and pieces of many of her loved one’s lives before the rest of their people came down to the ground, she knows better than to try and ease it. instead she brings her something she can eat without tying up both of her hands and stays with her until raven gets the clue that she’s not leaving until she does, and compassion for her outweighs her restlessness, just as gina knew it would. she’d stay up all night were it just her, but she won’t keep gina up. 

she takes it as a good sign that she has the presence of mind to notice - both for raven and for bellamy. it means raven might actually get some sleep, and that means the logical part of her mind is telling her this is all routine and bellamy will return home just fine. raven might never admit it, but she’s been doing this for longer than gina has - worrying about bellamy. how often gina thought of him while he was in the mountain would argue not much longer, but she chooses to believe for her own peace of mind that she’s right. raven usually is. right, that is. 

gina’s not ready to sleep, though, so she wanders through a darkened and lonely arkadia until she finds what she’s been trying to turn into some kind of classroom in her spare time. there aren’t a lot of kids running around arkadia and no one’s been able to put a lot of thought into education with the threat of the mountain men and grounders hanging over them, but as they’ve worked to better arkadia’s ability to shelter, it’s a place gina’s mind has lingered frequently. if this is where they’re going to spend the next decade or decades, it’s something they’re going to have to think about. it’s that thought that sparked this project of sorts, one that had been heavily reliant lincoln’s abundance of knowledge about living on the ground. he’d taught her a lot about making paint out of natural materials, and so whenever she had time she’d come here to paint. 

if you asked her, she’s far from what you’d call an artist, but she’d also say she didn’t really need to be. it wasn’t about putting a mural up so much as getting some color on the walls, and it was nice to have a break from all of the grey - to bring some of the vibrant color of the outdoors inside. as long as the peace between their people and the grounders was tentative, arkadia’s most vulnerable would remain inside its gates. her own excursions outside them were limited to supply runs for the most part, but she’s seen what lies outside them; the least she could do was bring some of the light in. doing that felt almost like healing somehow, another way of leaving the worst of their lives in space behind and building something new, all the while making arkadia feel less haunted - more like the home they were trying to build it into instead of the last physical piece of the ark. it didn’t take her mind off bellamy completely, but painting did curb the worst of her worrying, and was a tranquil enough activity to soften the edges of her consciousness until she felt like sleep might be possible. even though she was often alone when she painted, she didn’t feel alone - maybe she was too focused on the activity that she didn’t have room to think about it, but ridiculous as she knew it would sound to say aloud, it was just as likely, if not more so, what the room represented. even alone in dim lighting with nothing but her paints to keep her company, she could almost feel what this room could be - feel the energy of kids playing and learning here surrounded in vivid color where she had been consumed by grey, the possibility of a better future like it was something tangible she could hold in her hands. and yet, after a few hours of painting, she ultimately chooses to go back to bellamy’s room, even knowing it would be awhile before he returned and she would be able to sleep. 

before she and bellamy had started sleeping together, she’d dreaded going back to her room. it always felt  much more lonely than she’d be at the bar or anywhere else she could fall asleep half way through some task, but for some reason, as much as she wishes bellamy would be waiting for her when she got there, she doesn’t find herself dreading what had once seemed to be an inevitable loneliness. in place of that loneliness is now the comfort she can draw from a few stray black hairs on bellamy’s pillow and the scent of him in the bed they share. though she doesn’t drift off, she’s able to rest while surrounded by his smell, hoping her warm thoughts of him and the pendant she tucked in his jacket can somehow bring him home safe and sound, uncertain as she is that there’s anyone watching over them. 

there’s no way to know if either of those things have anything to do with it, but bellamy does return to her safely, if incredibly worn down. the smirk that soon softens for her does little to detract from the dark shadows around his eyes, but her heart fills with love regardless, even if still accompanied by a stubborn lingering worry she’s not sure she’ll ever shake. gina returns that smile as he places the pendant in her paint-stained hands and the cool sensation of it pressed against her palm, soon followed by the warmth of his own hand curled around hers, elicits a powerful sense of relief. this ritual has quickly become of critical importance to her life on the ground, perhaps her favorite of all the patterns she’s settled into. her neck does feel a little bare without her mother’s necklace around it, but her attachment to the pendant has nothing to do with the relief she feels; what fills her now is entirely concerning her attachment to bellamy. gratitude fills her not because the necklace has been returned to her, but because bellamy has. 

bellamy returning the pendant to her means that he’s home and staying, and her own shoulders relax at that. there are few things that can warm her more than that, but his signing comes close. it softens her smile even more, and her voice is just as when she says, “good,” and does the matching sign, both a confirmation that he’d done it right and an expression of relief for what he’s assured her of, though she knows he’s less inclined to worry about the exhaustion she can plainly see as he is. she doesn’t waste another moment before letting her arms wrap around him, though a moment later she finds herself wishing she’d sat the necklace down so both hands could flatten over his back for better access. she has to settle for one sliding over his shoulder blades and bringing him closer, face tucked into his neck and breathing him in. it stays there as she makes a little mmm sound in response to his excuse, but rather than a true argument, she simply squeezes him tighter, savoring the feel of him for a few more moments before letting him go just to take one of his hands in hers and pull him toward the bed - next to which there’s some water and a quick snack before bed waiting for him when he’s ready. “missed you,” is a gentler way of saying i was worried about you in response to his inquiry, but it’s equally true. she strongly prefers falling asleep with him to without. she worried, but she also just didn’t like being without him, even if that was especially true when he was outside arkadia’s gates. it’s also more honest than painting seeing as in part that had been about distraction, and her fingers are covered in the evidence anyway, and possibly other parts of her, too, one could infer from the dried paint down the side of her neck.  “all good out there?” she asks, which is a not-so-sly way of asking if he’d run into trouble, which is an even less stealthy way of asking if he’s hurt, but she can’t exactly help herself. 

[terrifyingstories1]

[terrifyingstories1]

@lingeringscars​ sent: life doesn’t get easier by avoiding things. 

you sound like abby, she starts to say, but then she starts to feel kind of suspicious that he’s actually been talking to abby, and that’s just no good. raven needs someone on her side, hence the steely look of betrayal she shoots him that’s a cross between a defeatist shut up and a marginally irritated and not entirely un-desperate back off. abby in her ear about surgery is already more than she can stand; the last thing she needs is bellamy joining her. bellamy’s supposed to be hers - no matter that even she doesn’t know exactly what that means, other than he sits in that chair next to her or to the side of her when she’s working and doesn’t leave until she feels like she can breathe again, though she can’t say for sure how he can tell since she never really says much of anything when she gets like that. he’s not supposed to listen to abby’s side of things over hers, even when abby is right - especially then.  

“so why are you deferring to kane?”  she asks because as much as she’d like to say shut up, she doesn’t actually want him to - it helps to hear him talk, just not about that. and bellamy’s willingness to step aside and let the ‘adults’ handle things has been needling her.  

“why haven’t you asked gina out?”  it’s probably around the same reason she’s waved gina off to do her own thing when she’d have liked her to stay, but that’s not the point. and she’s seen how gina looks at him, watched those big round eyes follow him around, just as she’s seen bellamy look after her with his own lovesick gaze. 

they might not look so different than her own when she watches them go, but raven makes a habit of not thinking of it. whenever she sees kyle around she’s reminded of why, but the truth is she doesn’t have to go looking far. 

[terrifyingstories1]

i have a great deal of feelings about octavia and what it is for her to be needed. 

octavia’s entire life on the ark was about need, with her as the dependent; she relied on bellamy and aurora for everything and no means of acquiring anything for herself or attempting any sort of independence or agency. she had no power or control of her own and much of her time living in fear of being discovered and what that would mean for her and for her family. 

octavia quickly becomes intensely attached and committed to lincoln in s1, someone who, much like her, has never belonged among their people, and feels a deep sense of devotion towards him, one that leads to her agreeing to escape with him to luna’s. she’s ready to leave, but she can’t do it - for the first time, i think, she feels bonded to the other delinquents in a very real and permanent way. not a spectator, not an outsider, but genuinely one of them - and so they become hers, this very intense and meaningful attachment to them building. 

i don’t think it’s the first time she’s cared for them and she’s already built relationships with monty and jasper etc but i do think it’s the first or one of the first times she feels connected to the delinquents As a Group, as a Family, as The Hundred. and this is largely because of the events in i am become death, which i’ve talked about before - but in summary: octavia sees that the delinquents need her! she took care of them in this ep, took care of bellamy, and she finally got to experience being needed rather than needing, and she liked that. octavia likes being a person who matters to the people around her, being useful and necessary to those she cares for. 

it’s overshadowed by her warrior arc in s2, but it’s there, too, if subtle. octavia does everything she can to keep the alliance together, and that lincoln entrusts her with this task means everything. she’s looking out for her people and that’s something she enjoys doing, something of critical importance to her. once again she’s ready to desert the group in s3 after lincoln’s death but stops because the delinquents need her to help take care of raven and no matter how many times she tells herself that no longer matters, it’s something held very closely to her heart. she stays because monty reminds her of her importance and value to the group and she can’t leave that behind no matter how much she wants to cut and run. 

in s4 it manifests a bit differently, but it’s absolutely still there, it’s just more.. distant. octavia is still doing things for the group, for her people, she’s just not.. really with her people. she decides they need her to keep things solid in polis, and so she takes on the role of skairippa. this is preferable to her; it gets her emotional distance meaning she doesn’t have to confront her feelings but allows her to still be useful to the people she loves, even the ones she isn’t in the place to have a relationship with. she doesn’t totally fall apart until that’s gone, and then doesn’t totally resurface until it hits her that the people in the bunker need her to step up. she’s scared shitless, but she responds to that. that matters to her. 

part of accepting her new life on sky ring with dioyza and hope is seeing how much they need her and how crucial she is there. in some ways the dynamic mirrors the one she grew up with on the ark, but this time octavia is depended on rather than dependent - she’s an adult in hope’s life, participant in raising her, and that’s a huge deal. it’s not just hope, though; dioyza needs her, too, and being needed and relied on in that way for emotional and physical support is just so good for her. these are all things she never got to have growing up, and i love that she got this. 

[terrifyingstories1]

[terrifyingstories1]

“BELOVED.” was all the beast could rasp as she choked on sob. 

Ind. & sel. multimuse feat. So many beloved oc’s, muses from Jessica jones, nbc Hannibal, Buffy the vampire slayer & more! as cared for by kat valentine. 

[terrifyingstories1]

@lingeringscars​​ sent: it’s kind of hard to be anywhere these days. 

for gina, it’s about finding a dusty and cramped little corner and making a home there with a pile of boxes out of her weight class to sift through and organize when the blue-gray colors of the ark become overwhelming and company’s not an option. 

the sweat that builds on her neck and soaks through her curls is almost a comforting reminder that she’s here - not a product of the unbearable heat that had filled what was left of the ark after the exodus ship launched and those that remained tried to put the broken parts back together, but instead of exertion largely unnecessary in space. the ground is a good kind of warm, the kind she can’t really mind even when the combination of heat and irritants and activity make her lungs burn. life on the ark was much less physical and gina was better suited for that, but she doesn’t mind the more strenuous demands of the ground. 

not when they anchor her in the present, distract from the coolness of the walls around them that always seem cool to the touch no matter how much warm air circulates. 

but when the night comes and she’s alone in her room, there’s not really anything she can do to manufacture the same feeling and banish the loneliness. the bar is better, filled with the echos of people and life, but it doesn’t really keep her for being lonely, either. somehow that’s harder in the dark when everyone’s retreated to their separate corners, and it’s that kick of dread she feels when people start to clear out that she thinks of now as harper speaks to her. just for a moment until she’s reaching for her, holding her hand out but leaving harper with the option of taking it, expression gentle as she says, “maybe you could stay here for awhile?” 

[terrifyingstories1]

(  ryan.  ) 

a smile immediately breaks apart his features at the mention of kara. it’s not an obscure reaction for ryan, who smiles at everything, but the way he can feel his features contort into something that can only be categorized as a dorky, soft, in love smile…. it feels different. he’s always smiling and this is just as bright as any of those smiles, but there is something more intimate about it because it’s talking to his best friend about this person he maybe, kind of, loves. like, in love, loves. the kind of love he has never experienced before because he has love for everyone but has never gotten this close to one person before. he never minded, of course, because his biggest priority has always been bringing joy to other people. but the dumb smile doesn’t leave his face as he turns to face octavia. “you might already know her, actually.” it seems unlikely with how big their campus seems to him, but how many moroi really go there? they have to have some sort of recognition. it occurs to him a second later that their paths might have crossed at a party, but kara hasn’t been to one in a while, coming to him when she needs him instead. it makes him smile even more to know that he’s on her call list and trusts him enough for that, but she did bring him back from the dead. 

“she goes here.” not that she has a dorm on campus like octavia does, but maybe they’d have a class together. he kicks himself briefly for never asking kara about it, but it never occurred to him. she knows the role octavia plays in his life, of course, and octavia and kara both aren’t common names so he thinks they’re both smart enough to put it together if they did, but …. he digresses. “anyway, i can do it whenever. i mean, not whenever because you guys have classes and kara is really into school and is always studying but we can figure something out!! we could get food or just you know, chill. whatever works!!” the prospect of his two favorite people meeting is enough to put a smile on his face, but he finds it fading slightly anyway, slight insecurity setting in. “you really want to?” 

ryan gentles her gentleness, which on its own is more a determined (and often strained) imitation of effortless tenderness than the real thing - or at least that’s how it seems sometimes. of course, there has always been something so inexplicably gentle in ryan that octavia has always been a bit dazzled by, so it’s no surprise she would seem less in comparison. it’s not an entirely un-credible thought, though, because octavia’s stomach does drop a little as ryan’s butterflies fly around them and leave the sky a blushy pink. 

it’s more fear than jealousy, more apprehension than true fear, but it’s there and octavia hates that it’s there because all she wants is for ryan to be happy - it’s just that the idea of having less of him is terrifying. she has less of bellamy and ryan both now that she’s in college, and any less of either might just cut her off at the knees. 

but there’s something about loving ryan that’s brave somehow, and certainly kinder than she is sometimes, and so she’s able to pick her stomach back up and put it back where it belongs in the belly of a girl excited and happy for her best friend as he talks about the girl he likes. it’s not so hard to do when ryan rambles like that and the fondest of smiles is perching on her lips and leaning forward like a bird of a laugh waiting to take flight. it does when ryan’s smile fades, though she’ll soon reassure him, “of course i do, dummy.”  she gives him a friendly nudge here, prerogative of the best friend and all that. “how could i not?”  she considers, “i don’t know if she’s gonna want to meet me, though. you said she’s kind of a loner, right?” 

[terrifyingstories1]

between gina’s asthma and general lack of athleticism, gina’s not well suited for anything extremely physical, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t have some decent upper body strength. she’s got some sturdy arms, especially on the ground when she makes a habit of taking up ‘grunt’ work since she doesn’t really have any special skills that make her especially useful outside of her willingness to take on any project, no matter how ill suited she may be for it. she takes pride in helping the raven and monty’s of the world and doesn’t mind doing whatever is asked of her, no matter how demanding it is physically. a lot of this time means getting the jobs no one else wants - moving shit, sorting shit, lots of heavy lifting, etc. she’s not a body builder by any means and her asthma limits her stamina, but she’s stronger and sturdier than she looks. 

mostly, though, she’s hardy. she doesn’t care if something takes her all day long because she has to take breaks when she’s winded or her muscles aren’t quite up to ask as long as she can do it, and she’ll never complain. she’s a grunt, and proud of it. it’s her livelihood, where her sense of purpose and joy comes from. her upper arms aren’t anything to laugh at, though. 

[terrifyingstories1]

@buildhope​​​​ sent: if one thing had been different, would everything be different today?

“that’s a dangerous game,” gina croons gently with the solemn undertone of someone who knows, if on the sweet side for having been so thoroughly acquainted. it’s a game she herself could spend all day playing with creative license, but there are better uses for her hands than locking up tight around feasibilities that’ll do nothing but hurt, and there’s two sides to everything, even the supplies she’s sifting through.

these clothes belonged to someone, someone she knows is gone now. when you grow up in clothes that once wrapped around another’s skin you tend not to notice that so much; it’s what the ark was about, purposing and re-purposing, no room for waste.

gina notices, though, and she could be weighted down by that, the idea that everything is haunted, just a little, the way the walls of the ship that came down to earth always feels to her, but mostly she just tries to hold each piece in her hands for a moment longer than necessary and remember where it came from, even if that’s not for her to know. in a way, it does seem kind of beautiful that there are things of yours that will last longer than you will, that one afternoon she might see a sweater she can remember on her mother keeping someone else’s arms warm, that one day she might live on like that, somewhere in the stitches.  

maybe nothing of hers is hers to pass on, but if all that meant was that there was someone else in the seams - that she was never alone, would she really mind?

there’s an up and a down side to everything, a balance in all of it somewhere to be found, she knows. there are any number of instances where if one thing had been different, gina would be dead. if she hadn’t been in medical when factory station crashed to the ground, if her lungs were a tad less stubborn, if the oxygen levels were just a little lower, if they hadn’t pulled her to safety after the exodus ship launched. 

but if she’d gotten through to her father - if she’d known what he was planning in the first place, if she’d stopped her mother from volunteering to be culled, if she hadn’t been born with crappy lungs...  there’s just no shortage of things, and gina knows better than to think they all belong to her. if the ark had known earth was survivable, if raven’s radio hadn’t been destroyed - so many things could mean her mother is alive today, and her father along with. 

but gina sees what she thinks her father forgot as he plotted against the council in her name: her mother made a choice, and who is she to take that away? 

how could she try?

gina leaves her work behind, facing alden with a sympathetic smile.  “what are you wrestling with?”  blunt, maybe, but kind. questions like that don’t come out of nowhere, and there are better uses for her mind than what-if’s - she can be a sounding board, and maybe that’s something that alden needs.

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I want the cottage. I want the green grass and the tomato plants. I want the peace in you; the front porch rocking chair lullaby; our cricket legs rubbing together under the covers. We can’t have it all. I know that, but humor me. We can’t have it all, but we can have most of it.

Caitlyn Siehl, from “Apple Pie Life” (via oofpoetry)

[terrifyingstories1]

oh don’t take this sinner from me