#belated but I wrote it and it shouldn’t die in my drafts

[becomingpoet]

Once, long ago, I met his kind:

The kind of man who walks with wind,

whose eyes conceal the sun within-

its radiant harmony never far behind.

I was caught in his light, defenseless,

overwhelmed by his molten skin

and the sacred rhythm we kept, now blessed,

its radiant harmony never far behind.

His eyes electrify soft skin

and encourage chemical souls to blend.

Yes I’ve met his kind before-

Sunlit muses walking among men-

The song we sing haunts the breath of the wind,

its radiant harmony never far.

[luxexhomines]

pls write more Nagito I'm 😥💙

Since these messages all came around mostly the same time, I’m going to assume they’re from the same person (unless you’d like to correct me! I just thought the timing was really close). Edit: it’s come to my attention that the first ask was separate from the other two (not sure if the other two are separate from each other, though)! I guess I was just really surprised since I usually don’t get so many asks at once from different people (all within the span of maybe 10~20 minutes). Thank you (both? all?)!

Firstly, thank you for the request, wonderful anon! General requests are closed, but I did open them for the two prompts lists I put out (they’re not very good, but nonetheless, they’re there: lyrics & variety). I’m a person who follows their whims all too easily, so the moment I saw this request last night, I zeroed in on it, despite the other year-old requests still sitting in my inbox.Thank you for the lovely words & cute message! I’m touched and happy that you like my blog. You’re a really cool anon ♡ Thanks also for the feedback! I’d like to branch out and write more for characters aside from just Kokichi, even though I keep getting drawn toward writing anything with him involved. 

Here’s your request below the cut because of major SDR2 spoilers; trigger warning for blood and slight gore! I’ve fulfilled the prompt in two capacities, each emphasizing a different element of the phrase, ‘I need you.’  

                                                          —–

11. i need you | | nagito x reader

You woke up again with your body doused in sweat, clammy skin, a racing pulse, and hot, slimy tears running down your cheeks, and sat up in your bed, drying your wet face and trying to calm down or at least get your heart to beat at a normal pace for having just woken up from sleeping. 

It’d been days since you’d found him there, trapped in a burning room, creepy music playing, and blood streaked over his body, which was stretched out by the relentless, sturdy rope. 

Every night, you woke up with those images, those sounds, those thoughts in your head from when you first discovered his body. You were so tired of it. You were tired of these nightmares, tired of waking up, tired of being tired, but most of all, tired of missing him. 

“I need you, Nagito.” 

The words came out before you had thought them, and disappeared into the silence as you sat there in the darkness of your room, feeling small and half-dead, half-alive. 

It hurt to say those words. But it hurt, even more, knowing they were true. You knew by the way you looked for him at breakfast, by the way you paced the island for him, by the way you wrote in your journal absent-mindedly trying not to think about him, and of course by the way you dreamed about his death every night. 

You tried not to cry any more that night. He wasn’t coming back, no matter how much you needed him. If you needed him, you were going to die, and that was one future you had been trying to avoid this entire time. 

                                                          —–

11. i need you | | nagito x reader

You walked into the room and immediately realized that something was very, very wrong. Nagito was standing next to the table, reading and clutching a letter from a crisp white envelope with an odd expression on his face as if he didn’t know what to make of its content.

“Nagito, what is that?” you asked, walking over to him and glancing over his shoulder when he didn’t respond. When he did answer you, it was belated and after you’d already skimmed his letter. 

“I’ve been called for the military draft,” he says calmly. A look at his face revealed a surprising indifference to his military conscription. You snatch the letter from his hands and rip it to shreds angrily. 

“How can you be so calm about this?! This is terrible!”

Nagito shrugged and laughed. 

“I mean, who needs a piece of trash like me?” he says offhandedly. “No one��s going to miss me. Better me, a jobless orphan, than someone else who supports their family and is relied on by others at work.” 

You feel your expression crumple, and you slap him hard across the face. He put his hand to his stinging face, his long fingers touching it tenderly. He hadn’t been expecting such a volatile reaction from you. 

“How could you say that?” you burst into tears. “I need you, Nagito. I need you.”

Not knowing what to say, he took a step closer to you and embraced you. He was warm, and you breathed in his scent: clean, with a hint of laundry detergent, and his smell. 

“I shouldn’t have said that,” he says gently, and his gentle kindness only makes the entire ordeal more painful as you gulp back your tears. You held him, too, and sniffled. 

“I shouldn’t have been surprised. You always say things like that,” you say weakly. “It’s beyond me why I love you when my love only gets trampled on by you like this.” 

He holds you in silence, not having any words to comfort you with. Time passes before you let go of him, but instead of also letting go of you, he puts his hands firmly on your shoulders. 

“I need you, too,” he says simply, and it was probably the most truthful thing he thought he’d said all day. 

You smile at him faintly. At least you could always trust him to be sincere. 

“Alright, alright… All is forgiven,” you reply with a small chuckle, and smooch him on the cheek affectionately. 

His cheeks tinge with red, and he gazes upon you adoringly. 

“I really do need you, you know.” 

You blush. He was a loving partner, but such direct words still were enough to embarrass you. 

“Whatever you say,” you brush it off. 

“Really,” he emphasizes. 

“That’s enough out of you,” you say, face burning, and lean in to capture his lips and keep him from continuing his mindless doting words.

[acenancy]

anonymous asked:

Bellarke Fic were Bellamy finds out when Clarke's birthday is and makes her her a ring or bracelet or picks her a flower or something?? :) - cause she should still celebrate her birthday even if it's the apocalypse :) THANKYOU

Belated

Wow, k, so I saved this ask in my drafts and now it won’t post which is super cute. Sorry, anon. Anyway, I wrote this fairly quickly? It was just fun to write lmao. ALSO ty @bcnightsquad​ for inspiring me with the drinking game vignette you sent <3

Fandom: The 100 Pairing: Bellarke Rating: G Words: 1,381

(ao3)

Bellamy shouldn’t have expected to beat Clarke at pong. He saw her obliterate everyone at every alcohol fueled game during their time at the Dropship, but for some reason he still agreed to play against her tonight. He’s not bad, and she’s had to down a few of her own cups thanks to him, but Clarke has hardly missed a shot. Before he knows it, Bellamy is chugging his last cup in defeat.

“You know,” he says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “seeing as I’m a member of the guard, the legal drinking age is twenty one, and you’re only seventeen, I could arrest you right now if I wanted to.”

With a roll of her eyes, Clarke aims the browned, bent ping pong ball they used to play at Bellamy’s head. “First of all, age restrictions stopped being enforced the day one hundred kids were sent to Earth without adult supervision,” Clarke reminds him. It’s not a written rule but Bellamy supposes it’s true. Age is obsolete when all that matters is survival. “Second,” Clarke continues, “I’m eighteen.”

“Still not of age,” counters Bellamy. He tosses the ping pong ball back to her.

“Must we revisit my first point?”

Clarke’s age has never been something Bellamy focused on. She’s wiser than the oldest Arkadian and more mature than most adults. If her youthful features didn’t play a factor in Bellamy’s perception of her, he would assume she’s the most ancient person on the planet. It’s easy to forget that in reality, the only reason Clarke is on Earth at all is because she was just a kid.

And now she’s not.

Age isn’t important on the ground, birthdays even less so, but people are important. Clarke is important. Especially to Bellamy.

How could he have possibly missed her birthday?

“Since when have you been eighteen?” Bellamy asks.

Clarke shrugs, walking over to the other end of the table to stand with him. “Since Mount Weather, I think. Could have been before that. The council forgot to supply us with calendars.”

“Typical.”

“Not that Priamfaya would spare me if I were still seventeen.”

“You’re literally turning a conversation about your birthday into a discussion about the end of the world.”

“My birthday was months ago, Bellamy.” Any humor Clarke wears slips from her face as she steps into his space. She stares him dead in the eyes when she says “the apocalypse is now.”

Trying for comfort, Bellamy slides his knuckles along the path between her elbow and shoulder. “You really know how to lighten the mood, Princess.”

Frowning, Clarke conks her head against his shoulder and rests it there. Into his sleeve she mumbles a halfhearted “shut up.”

While the topic of Armageddon is always buzzing throughout Arkadia, any mention of Clarke’s birthday is not after that night. Not that it should be. Like Clarke said, it was months ago. Bellamy, however, can’t seem to shake it from his brain.

He’ll have a meal that’s not gross and wish he’d had it for Clarke as a birthday dinner. The sweet berries he finds down by the river could be used for an excellent birthday pastry. The flowers growing along the Ark’s metal shell would be an extra sweet present.

Bellamy makes a list of these things, in case Clarke ever makes it to nineteen.

It doesn’t occur to him that he can still do something for her now, months after her birthday, until he and Kane stop by Niylah’s trading post on their way to Polis.

The weather is shifting dramatically as the days go by, and though it was blistering hot when they left Arkadia two hours ago, it’s below freezing now. The Ark issued guard jackets are nothing against the biting winds and slushy rain they’re facing.

Kane has decided to invest in heavy furs to protect them against the cold. He goes through a pile at one end of Niylah’s store while Bellamy stands and broods at the other. He distracts himself from the memories this place brings by watching the chimes clang and ding with the violent wind, over and over. Old silverware crashes against jewelry crashes against wires and tubing and scrap.

Bellamy almost doesn’t recognize her dad’s watch amidst all the thrashing.

Its black band is frayed at the edges, its face cracked to the point where the hands are no longer visible. Though when Bellamy plucks it from the chime it hangs from and holds it to his ear, he can still hear the ancient ticking of time inside.

“Here’s your fur,” Kane says from behind him. He passes Bellamy a massive pelt, midnight black, the softest thing Bellamy’s fingers have ever touched. He melts just imagining how warm it will keep him in this brutal weather.

Bellamy offers Kane a grateful nod and regretful smile. The fur is extraordinary.

He knows he can’t keep it.

Without saying a word, Bellamy lifts the watch for Kane to see, It takes a moment for the other man to process before recognition dawns on his face, then understanding. “You do what you have to do,” he says.

So Bellamy trades his new warm fur for Jake Griffin’s old broken watch.

“Clarke never wanted to sell it,” Niylah tells him, sad eyes trained on the face cradled in his palm, “but she had nothing else to give.”

Bellamy doesn’t mind the subzero chill when the watch is clutched safely in his hand. Not even when his nose runs and his eyes water and he loses all feeling in his extremities. Not even when his lips turn blue or when he slips from consciousness outside Polis’ gates. Not even when he wakes up in med bay with no recollection of the last two days.

Selling his fur was still worth it.

Eyes fluttering open, Bellamy squints against the fluorescent lights bearing over him, turning his head to find Clarke sitting vigil at his bedside.

A hissed “I can’t believe you,” is the first thing he hears. Clarke is struggling to glare at him through the relief swimming in her eyes. Her hands are gripping his vice like. “Kane told me what you did.”

Bellamy blinks, trying to remember how exactly he wound up this way.

“You traded your fur,” Clarke reminds him, “for a watch that doesn’t even work.”

“Didn’t need a fur,” Bellamy mumbles. “There was a nice breeze.”

“Bellamy, it wasn’t a breeze. You almost died of hypothermia.”

He looks down at their hands, both of her own still wrapped tightly around his. On her right wrist is the watch, tattered and shattered but there, on her, where it belongs.

He taps its face with his free hand. “Happy birthday.”

A frustrated huff escapes her, at war with the smile fighting to curl at the corners of her lips. “Bellamy...”

“You’re welcome.”

A tear spills from her eye and lands on Bellamy’s thumb. He releases her hands to swipe it across her cheekbone, brushing the moisture away. His heart aches, the way it always does when she cries, except this time the ache is sweet. This time, she’s smiling too.

“Thank you,” Clarke whispers, voice so small he can barely hear her, “but this watch wouldn’t have meant anything if I lost you.”

Not for the first time, she leaves Bellamy speechless.

With every word spoken, every action taken, Clarke has made it explicitly clear how much Bellamy means to her in the last few weeks. He knows he’s not her foot soldier or some means to an end. He knows they’re equals, on every level, and partners in everything they do. Together they’re leaders, confidantes, best friends, possibly...more. Whatever they are, they need each other. It’s the only thing he’s certain of.

So maybe the watch wasn’t worth his life. But seeing the light shine in Clarke’s eyes, Bellamy doesn’t regret a thing.

“Yeah.” Emotion wells in his chest and he clears his throat before speaking. “I’ll try not to die the next time I go birthday shopping for you.”

Clarke scoffs, but she’s grinning stupidly when she leans her head on his side, and her watch clad hand over his heart. Bellamy clasps it, holding her close.

“Don’t even bother trying,” says Clarke. “I already have everything I need.”