#if anyone's read this far holy fuck what are you doing why /pos

[katsy-kitty]

holy shit I just did so much cleaning

I know my body will hate me tomorrow

I'll probably have to do heavy resting for the next few days

but I'm also proud of myself

but I have also entered my verbose era

and I don't know how to stop

it's 3:30 am and I'm still so hyper

if I don't fall asleep again, it's gonna be a bit of a problem

I don't like these insomnia bouts

[metamusings]

wednesday, 14 june, 2023 | 00:34

i’m sure there’s a joke in here somewhere, about how we’ve got to stop meeting like this.

no prose poetry this time around for once. i’m sure the lot of you -- the lot of who? what are you talking about -- will be surely bummed about that but alas, here we are. no, no prose poetry or any existential think pieces. i think i just wanted to write, get some thoughts somewhere, without thinking all too hard about how it might look. how it might sound.

some simple housekeeping, for anyone -- ???? who are you TALKING to??? -- who cares: today is my younger nephew’s sixth birthday; i am official two months post-op which is equal parts “oh my god, holy shit /pos” as it is “oh? wild,” so take that as you will; it’s been nearly a year since me and Little Man stopped speaking which fucking blows; my brain has basically become sludge; i’ve been smoking so much that even *i’m* concerned about it.

that just about covers the main shit that i can list off the top of my head i suppose?

time is fucking weird, man. like, how am i twenty-one now? how did we get here? do you have ninety minutes? like if -- and here me out here -- but if life, is indeed, a highway and i, a humble passenger, am going to drive it all night long, it seems as though i’ve somehow slipped into cruise control but not in the fun way. does that make sense? who are you asking? grain of salt, because i am someone who has never driven nor plans too, but the vibe i garner from the words “cruise control” stems from like,, going with the flow. wait no i’m mixing my metaphors aren’t i. like i was going to say go with the flow, don’t worry about the journey just focus on getting there, but i feel like it shouldn’t be encouraged to be like,, checked out while driving?

forget the metaphors for a moment, will you? the key points i’m trying to convey is that i’ve been crushingly aimless this last little while. i don’t feel like i’ve had an unburdened positive in a while what’s a while? it’s been three days, relax your melodramatic ass. and it’s kind of kicking my ass? just a little bit? thankfully it hasn’t gotten, like, Bad bad yet, i’m still getting out of bed some days and brushing my teeth more like swishing some mouthwash and little housekeeping things. hell, i even went on a walk today! smoked half a pack of cigarettes, is what you did.

i think i’m at that little bump in the road again where i didn’t exactly plan to get this far? and i haven’t really made any plans since realising that. that feels so fucking cliche every time i say it and yet, here we are. like, of course i’m feeling aimless and listless and unmoored! i haven’t set up anything to look forward or be tethered to. but i don’t know how to fix that. i don’t know how to pursue an enriching yet chronically purposeless existence. like am i just supposed to exist? how do i do that? what’s the point of just sitting around all day and filling the long hours of nothing with meaningless somethings, just little shit to make those long hours somehow seem shorter? like do i just continue on this cycle of wake up do fuck all with significance and fall asleep again? i don’t understand what i’m doing here. not in a like... existential “does life has meaning” shit. been there, done that, that’s *so* seventh grade. but like... if my options are whatever i make them be then why am i doing all of these little bouts of nothing to pass the time when i could just save everyone the headache, save ME the headache, and hop, skip and jump to the ending.

i feel like one of those really long fics on ao3 that’s just about nothing. like, you get maybe a solid first couple chapters but then at some point while reading you realise the author didn’t really have an outline to get them this far and instead of have a goal or something in mind, they’re kind of just writing something plotless, something not even all that engaging. does that make sense? am i making sense?

complete sidebar: for a fandom that i have only engaged with via fanfiction, that one 80s show (name redacted to save me the headache of any of that engagement, dear christ) has me in a fucking chokehold and i would like to be released actually. if someone could get my brain to latch onto and hyperfixate on literally anything else that’d be SWELL.

i think what i’m trying to say is that i’m tired of living a life that just feels like filler. like i don’t even feel like the main character in my own major motion picture? i’m just some background schmuck a viewer sometimes sees at parties or some point of tension that some other main character has to like process and navigate or some shit. like, if were in a book or a movie, i’d be that one asshole you hear about... well, you wouldn’t actually hear about them would you? like, it’d be some newspaper headline or some blurry photo being featured on in the news, the broadcast itself just some set dressing as main character grabs like a single grape from the four course feast their parent made them before they rush off to school.

i love how i said i wasn’t gonna have an existential think piece and yet here we are. i still don’t understand who you’re talking to. are you talking to you? are you talking to them? who are they? why are here? how did they find us? how the fuck did they Find Us-

i think that ‘s enough of this, anyway. it’s one in the morning now. i am tired, i am quite clearly spiraling. i need water and sleep and less caffeine, probably.

part of me is like genuinely wondering who i have in mind when i write these like,, directionless thought to keyboard pages. in my head i’ve got a little man with a camera and i’m monologuing at the lens, if that helps at all with the image. i’m just also convinced that no one will be seeing the footage anymore.

okay, that’s enough now, bye.

- colin

[caddy-crystal-queen]

Okay on tonight's episode of who in the GoT/HoTD Fandom need to be slapped, I'm gonna address two issues cause I'm pissed and honestly it deserves mentioning.

Gonna start with the most recent thing I heard. Wtf is with Fandoms driving people off of social media with their nonsensical bullshit?! Not to drag another Fandom into this but Star Wars is notorious for this bullshit, and I seriously thought we moved past this! Clearly not!

Can Fandoms just stop doing this? The most recent victim of this nonsense is apparently the actor playing Young Alicent Hightower, Emily Carey.

*WHACK*

STOP. BULLYING. PEOPLE!

Be. A. Nice. Human!

Holy tap dancing Horus! She's an actress literally just doing her job and giving her perspective on her character! This ties in to these actors being people at the end of the day! You don't bully someone for simply stating an opinion, an opinion which doesn't harm anyone. First off that's just rude as fuck, you can disagree with someone and still believe they have a right to their opinion! Miss Carey has literally done nothing wrong except...apparently saying her character isn't a villain? Um...when did this become a crime? When did this become one of the worst things apparently you can do?

Holy shit there should be a support group for all these actor chased off social media but Fandom entitled fuckwits who can't see in front of their faces or think with their brains!

Now this is not being a support of the character Alicent Hightower. I've read Fire and Blood, I know what happens. But this isn't even about the character, this is about the actress. Like the rest of us she's allowed to have her opinion and state it. All YOU have to do, if you disagree, is ignore the tweet, walk the other way, and leave it the fuck alone. Anyone who bullies people, not just famous people, off the internet for a harmless (notice I said harmless, meaning they aren't saying something deeply troubling about real life issues) opinion deserves a swift kick in the ass and a sharp slap to the face!

Fuck. You. All!

Now, the second thing I'm going to address has actually been a problem since casting for the show was announced. People, what kind of piece of shit sits there and talks shit about another person's appearance?!

Yeah, I'm mad yall mother fuckers got me defending Matt Smith up in this bitch.

Again.

*WHACK!*

Quit. With the high school. Bullying. TACTICS!!!!!

Like I said how fucking hard is it just to be a decent human being?! Like what has to go so wrong in your life that you decided to just take your bullshit out on someone you don't even know? And going for their appearance? That's just fucking low.

I'm gonna just get this out of the way: I'm not a fan of the guy. I never really have been. I don't think he's ugly, like everyone seems to be saying, but he just doesn't do it for me personally, and it's absolutely nothing against him. I'm sure Matt Smith is an awesome dude IRL, and he seems pretty chill as far as I know. I respect the guy for his acting ability and his passion but that's about it. I see why a lot of people find him appealing but he doesn't do it for me.

That being said, I am so sick of seeing comments like "Oh, well he looks like he's the product of incest anyway!". Like dude...that is not cool and no one should be saying that about anyone. I may not find him attractive personally but I'm not sitting here behind a phone screen bashing the appearance of a dude I don't know. Nothing, not a thing, gives anyone the right to say things like that and bully someone for something they literally have no control over.

It's seriously some petty ass bullshit and it needs to stop. Maybe he doesn't need me to defend him but goddamn yall are just doing too damn much and being a POS about it. Your insults, name calling, and bullying are completely uncalled for!

Stop. Your. Bullshit!

Be. A nice. Human!!!!

It literally costs nothing!

Fucking assholes...

[daimonhalos]

Aight this is the second time I watch it but I'm gonna do a commentary on the latest bad's lore stream! Just for funsies, I might have honestly already forgotten some stuff so I wanna keep my thought process :3 let's go, commentary under the cut.

There's also some small theories/analysis in some points but nothing too much, just me rambling cause pain.

The pre stream song. Faster and Bad never change please.

I love so so so much the ominous soundtracks he puts as background for lore man it's just so coooool.

Reality check pre/post lore my beloved 💜

that little meh eh eh. is everything

he's just on a boat at night and but can already see he's got shaders on, this means PRETTY VISUALS AHEAD. Also i really like bits beginning with the character alone heading towards their destined direction, it's just pleasing

HIM TAKING DOWN ANTI EGG POSTERS. KING SHIT

Can't believe I got to hear "muffinhead" in lore voice.

Not even inside the room and HOLY SHIT they covered it all with the red bricks block IM AAAAH IT'S SO PRETTY. Like before the vines were all put at random but now they're neatly placed and it's actually aesthetically pleasing? I love it

DANCEFLOOR DANCEFLOOR DANCEFLOOR

The table. is . so. is so . it's so prebby,,, help like i'd live there man

Bad being overwhelmed by the egg's voice and lowkey scared. FINE IM FINE

No other choice. And the way he repeated it like a mantra? Kind of like to convince himself? AHHH

SKEPPY. SKEPP

small,, small egg staircase

haha fuckign pain. p a i n. just pain it sounds a lot like Skeppy before actually stayed with Bad cause it annoyed him how much he wanted to hang out like old times,,,,, my heart pangs

IM JUST WORRIED ABOUT YOU

I CARE ABOUT YOU *passes out*

bad scared the egg is skeppy's bff now /j (have to joke through the pain,,)

BADBOY i swear to god he knows his audience. he just does.

Bad doing whatever he can to even just hang out a few minutes with skeppy. Bro, the tears inside

"I'm comfortable right here." "Skeppy I know you are-" THE WAY BAD'S VOICE BROKE HERE HOLY SHIT LEMME CLIP IT.

He talks to chat. HE TALKS TO CHAT THIS MEANS WE ARE CANON THUS we are either little angels or demons around him or a mix or, we're particles that make up Rat ♥

"All of this is for him" okay stab me next time it'll hurt less

BADBOY STARTING TO BE CONFLICTED BECAUSE HE NEVER HAS A FUCKING BREAK

s- w- skeppy kept the egg alive? okay so ive been thinking about the fact that skeppy became completely red and like wow what if it kinda is that hes literally become a small part of Egg? like, i wonder if someone breaks it, if he feels pain

Skeppy so dry with his responses. stop i will cry

bad. bad why are you bringing up selfies to a lore stream bad-

"why are you still talking to me" "okay..." stop stop PLEASE STOP-

smol growls, he's getting frustrated

idk why but skeppy talking about the perimeters made me laugh it was just funny how far away he was and just started talking about it randomly

"i think it looked a little bit better before" thoughts being thunk

"what's it gonna take for you to stop talking to me?" literally i am deceased s t o p

STOP STEPPIN ON THE MAGMA BLOCKS SIR YOU'RE HURTING

Bad shouldn't be so happy about just having "one last walk around" with skeppy so he "stops bothering" him tHIS HURTS SO MUCH the egg has fucked them up so much

Skeppy doesn't hear it huh? Maybe it whispers different things to everyone

"I like how it feels" nooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO STOP HURTING TOURSELF

so no dance? *slams phone on the ground*

When skeppy says his line about never seeing anything close to a party there, idk what it is about it but his tone just hits, man he's so good preesh

HE CALLED HIM ANT. BAD PLS YOUR BEING BAD AT NAMES IS SHOWING

"Oh my goodness you're going back to the egg" HE'S SO SAD. HE'S SO SAD CAUSE HE COULDNT KEEP HIM WITH HIM A LITTLE BIT LONGER HES S

"you know what? i invite you" i wanna read this in a certain way. The egg was feeling like bad was so frustrated he started doubting the egg, so it was like alright let's use skeppy to get it closer to I can manipulate this bad boy better :)) motherfuck

are they about to kiss-

egg cockblocker

"okay don't come back" end me rn

ngl when sapnap joined I got real scared for a moment.

"it's not about power! it's nor about control! i'm you friend skeppy!" "I mean ... you can think that" FUCK U NO IM NOT DEALING WITH THIS RN

"We're friends, right?"

"In your head we can be best friends, we can be whatever you want" BDI ANYONE??????? also whatever- whatever he wants? :eyes: okay sorry no ill see myself out

"We're m- we are friends sk-" M- MARRIED WAS HE GONNA SAY MARRIED DID HE PULL A QUACKITY OH MY GOD I HATE THIS GUY OH MY GOD /pos but also like in a bawling my eyes out way

the egg is more than just a friend? skep u good there pal do u have smth to tell us

"You don't know what it's like." OH HERE HE GOES. HERE HE GOES HERE IT COMES OH NO.

The way Bad stutters i really thought he was gonna say something REALLY IMPACTFUL

"I have done so much for you, for our friendship and now you're trying to tell me we're not friends anymore?" LEAVE ME ALONE

I JUST CAUGHT THE BLOOPER HE SAID ON ME INSTEAD OF HANG OUT WITH ME IM CRYING OH MY GOD BAD HOW DID U FUCK THAT UP oh my god I imagine him mentally going like oh my gosh out of all the things that could be messed up THAT WAS SO FUNNY

ahaha my dads are fighting help

"You think you've done anything? You seriously think that?" *looks at my fic where bad feels worthless because the egg said so* ahah... I'm sorry?

"You left me for a long, long long time before you even checked up on me, okay?" he's not wrong,,,, he's not wrong why does this hurt sm,,,,, "and now all of a sudden you care about me?" OH MY GOD PLEASE I HATE THIS EGG

I see them... i see them approaching the lava blocks..

"the past doesn't matter" the egg wanting to erase their relationship so much,,,, i wanna cry because then if bad doesn't have skeppy he just has nothing right and then,,, then he can be another empty vessel for the fucking egg I hate this mI hate this so much

Also!!! little things I noticed!! Bad taking away part of the vine and also mining a red block? Without being affected at all? MHHHH

"I just wanted us to hang out like we used to" BAD'S VOICE CRACKING AGAIN STOP I WILL CJRYSD

"I did all of this for you and I didn't want the egg to take that away" you see how fucking tragic this is. Like Skeppy sacrificed himself so his friend could stop being infected. Bad sacrificed literally the whole server himself included to get him back. And then it comes down to this. The egg separating them a thousand fucking miles away. I hate this it's so sad

the selfish bit please no stop

THE LAVA BAD THE LAVA PLEASE IT'S TOO CLOSE

the fucking shaking with rage thing got me BROOOO I LOVE WHEN BAD DOES THE LITTLE THINGS IN GAME

"IT'S JUST A STUPID EGG" FUCKING FINALLY YOU TELL HIM BAD but then oh no oh no would you look at that huh. cant fucking have shit in dsmp. the way he immediately just screams for him right after

YOU CAN HEAR THE TEARS IN HIS VOICE and also mine hi I'm sobbing again

BDI FUCKING CANON LET'S GOOOOOOO WE CALLED ITTTT

(Dreamscape?)Skeppy being actually concerned with him haha this doesn't hurt at all!!!

*stares at black screen* I'm fine.

Thank you for listening to my ramble I am hurting so much bestie

[andthelightbulbclicks]

Hey can i get Bellarke fic in a cinderella universe? Bell the prince Clarke is Cinderella ?

Dear anon who sent this in forever ago,

I hope you’re still around to read this, lol.. This is more so a modern, loosely-based Cinderella story, but it’s a beast. So I hope y’all enjoy :) [ao3]

“Oh shit.”

Which, not exactly the words Clarke wants to hear from theperson currently working on dying her hair.

“What,” Clarke says immediately, hands reaching up to touchher hair as she tries to turn around and look in the bathroom mirror. “’Ohshit,’ what?”

Raven grabs at her shoulders, keeping her in her sittingposition and unable to catch a glimpse of the apparent disaster occurring onher head. “It’s not bad,” Raven assures her as soon as she’s confident thatClarke isn’t going to make a move to turn again, “it’s just– a lot more bluethan I had anticipated.”

At that, Clarke can’t stop herself from whipping herselfaround in the kitchen chair they had dragged into their bathroom, and gettingan eyeful of – yep, a whole lot of blue.

“Holy blue,” Clarke says, staring at her reflection, eyestracing over her short hair that is most definitely far bluer than she andRaven had discussed.

Raven’s eyes meet hers in the mirror as she nods solemnly.“Holy blue,” she agrees.

“I thought we agreed that we were just doing the tips totest it out?” Clarke asks pointedly as Raven avoids her glare in the mirror.

“We did! But you chopped your hair so short and it’s solight and I may have misjudged the strength of the dye and how high it wouldseep up into your hair,” Raven defends.

At that, Clarke lets out a huff. “You said it’s temporary,right?”

“Yup,” Raven nods. “That’s why we used it, just to gauge howyour hair would react to it,” she explains as she takes one of their bathtowels to start tugging and squeezing at the blue hair, and winces when shepulls the towel away to find it dyed blue as well.

Clarke pins her with her best unimpressed look once she eyesthe towel in Raven’s hands.

“Trust me,” Raven continues, tilting her head, her ponytail swingingwith it’s perfectly dyed red tip, “when we do it for real, I’ll know to golighter and to do a smaller portion of hair so it doesn’t, uh, end up goingabove your ears.”

As she says it, Clarke finds her hands tracing over the bluethat starts to fade into blonde just above her ears. It’s a lot of blue. Far more blue than blonde, even with her hair onlybrushing her shoulders to begin with.

“My mom’s going to lose it,” Clarke tells her as she takesthe towel, trying to dab at the blue herself, and only accomplishing turningthe towel bluer. “She’s going to think I’m going through an annual rebel phase.Dropped out of school last year, excessively dye my hair this year, get tons ofpiercings next year, a giant tattoo the year after that…”

Raven rolls her eyes. “Just tell Abby I did it and all willbe forgiven.”

And well, she’s not wrong.

Clarke scrunches her nose in response, not actually havingan argument to that.

“Besides,” Raven goes on, giving up on the now-blue toweland using it to start wiping up any excess dye off the counter. “It’ll wash outin two, three days tops. And the kids are gonna love it.”

And again, Raven Reyes is never technically wrong.

—

When Clarke was thirteen, her father died.

It had been sudden, blindsiding Clarke and her mother, and throwingthem into a never-ending tailspin. Clarke was absolutely devastated, one dayhaving her father’s smiling face teasing her, the next rushing to the hospitalto say her goodbyes after a massive heart attack.

After that, she and her mom were never the same. Theysurvived, made it through that first awful year after the heart attack, andeven repaired their relationship as best as a grieving widow and a shattered andconfused fourteen-year-old could. They’d make it, they’d just never have her dadthere again to balance them out the way they needed.

When Clarke was fifteen, Abby introduced Marcus Kane to her.

This, she knew was coming.

She knew her mom had been going on dates, knew that it wasall very tentative, and knew that this was important. It’d been two years, andthough the spiteful side of her wanted to hate her mom for moving on and hateMarcus for even existing, she was willing to grudgingly acknowledge thatwouldn’t be fair. She couldn’t expect her mom to never fall in love withsomeone again, and she couldn’t blame Marcus for making her mom happy and beingthat someone.

They married the following year, and Clarke was happy for them. She briefly imaginedMarcus being some sort of evil-step-father, but she couldn’t get the image tostick. She liked Marcus and his awkward attempts at assuring Clarke that hewasn’t trying to replace her father. And she liked the way he looked at her momlike she hung the moon.

When Clarke was sixteen, they told her that they wanted tostart fostering.

On top of having been married to a very successful engineerfor fifteen years, Abby came from a wealthy family. Marcus had his own fortune,often donating to Arkadia’s local history museum. They had the money, they hadthe room, and all they needed was for Clarke to be okay with having one or twokids around the house for the year or so she’d still be living at home beforeshe left for college.

And Clarke was definitely all for it.

Which is how Octavia Blake and John Murphy came to live withthem.

John, or well, Murphy, was fourteen. He’d been in the systemfor four years, after his mother had died from alcohol poisoning. Four fosterhomes, two counts of theft, and one final warning of juvie later, Murphy cameto live with them with a smirk that told Clarke he didn’t plan on being therelong.

Octavia was thirteen. Her mother had died the year before,and she’d been in a sort of foster-care-limbo since then because hereighteen-year-old brother was trying to get custody of her. The courts hadruled against the brother, and Octavia came to live with them, anger coursingthrough every inch of her small form.

At first, it was rough. Really rough.

Clarke knew she could never truly understand what they hadgone through, what they were goingthrough, but she had wanted to try and make them feel at home, to let themfeel like they had a home. Abby andMarcus must have thought Clarke could be an outlet for them, someone aroundtheir age that they could talk to. She thought she could be that person too.

They didn’t.

They went to school, Murphy scowled at everything andOctavia didn’t speak, and they continued to pretend that Clarke didn’t exist,keeping to their rooms as much as they could.

And on top of all of that, there was Bellamy Blake.

Marcus and Abby never limited his access to Octavia once shecame to live with them. Bellamy was welcome any time he wanted to see hissister. He was invited for dinner whenever he came by, which was often, and heaccepted every time, if only to spend some more time with Octavia. He’d stayfor dinner, help Octavia with any homework she had to do, and then thank hermom and step-dad before leaving to go back to the house his mom had left to himor to one of his many jobs.

He seemed to like Marcus and Abby well enough, was willingto be kind to them even if Clarke could see the tension he held the entire timehe was there.

But Clarke? He hatedher.

The first time he came to see Octavia, she tried to talk tohim as he waited for Abby to get Octavia. She wanted to see if he had anysuggestions on how to get through to Octavia, even Murphy, and show them thatshe was on their side.

He’d looked at her with an amused tilt of his head and aroll of his eyes. “Try getting off your fucking high-horse and acknowledge thefact they don’t want you on their side, Princess.”

Octavia had burst through the kitchen door and into his armsright after, effectively ending the conversation before it could even start.

Clarke had been taken aback, felt the blood rush to her faceeven as she fought the urge to spit a retort back at him.

But her mom popped her head in the doorway and smiled at thesight of the two siblings together, and Clarke couldn’t do it. Octavia had beensmiling for the first time since she came to live with them, and Clarkecouldn’t, wouldn’t take that away.

She got why Bellamy hated her. She was the daughter ofprivileged people who were able to give his sister things he couldn’t. Hewasn’t able to hate Abby or Marcus, but he could hate Clarke and create theimage of her he wanted in order to justify it.

Clarke Griffin, the “princess” who was too self-entitled tounderstand anything, too good for the likes of Octavia or Murphy. Or him.

And she’d let him, if it meant he wouldn’t take it out onanyone else.

—

Clarke opens the door to her parent’s house, only to bewelcomed by the sound of rock music and something that smells absolutelyincredible coming from the kitchen.

She shakes her head fondly, making her way straight towardsthere and walking in to find Octavia sitting on top of the kitchen counter,feet swinging in front of her, as Murphy stands in front of the stovetop,stirring something sizzling in a pan.

She takes the moment before they notice her to just watchthem. The calm and ease they have, how much they clearly belong here after almost five years.

It’s only a second, because then Octavia’s turning towardsher and launching herself off of the counter to get to her. “Clarke!” Sheexclaims, before barreling into Clarke’s arms. She pulls away with a jolt aftersqueezing Clarke tight. “Holy shit, what did you do to your hair?” She asks asshe tugs on the blue.

“Raven got a little excited with the dye, it should come outin a few washes though.”

Murphy, ever the focused one on his cooking, only turns atthe mentions of her hair. His critical eye glances over the bright blue locksbefore smirking at her. “You seriously want to give Abby a stroke, don’t you,”he jokes, turning back to his food.

Octavia releases her hair just so Clarke can go flick Murphy’sear in retaliation. “No,” she starts,poking him wherever she has access to until he relents and spoons a bite ofwhatever he is cooking to test taste.

Stir-fry. Her favorite.

She makes a show of contemplating the flavors as Murphywaits for her approval, which as always, she gives full heartedly. “It’sdelicious,” she tells him while bumping him in the shoulder. “Thanks for makingit.” She pulls him into a hug before he can turn back to his work and ignoreher praise.

He accepts it with a good-natured roll of his eyes. “Welcomehome Clarke.”

“Thanks,” she says as she hops up on the counter whereOctavia had been when she walked in. “Now that you’re going to be this big,fancy chef going to a big, fancy cooking school, I definitely want one of thosecakes that gets set on fire. And the ice-cream you put in a deep fryer.”

Murphy heaves a dramatic sigh as he continues stirring theirdinner. “You’ve had deep-friedice-cream before, and Baked Alaska is practically an ice cream cake.”

“But you’ve nevermade it for us, which means we’ve never had the best,” Octavia chimes in,joining Clarke up on the counter. Out of the three of them, they had discoveredthat Murphy was the only one who could cook something that was edible. But hewas ­really good at it, so hebasically had the skills of three people anyways, which was fine with them.

Murphy snorts in place of letting the girls compliment him.

“So,” Octavia starts, turning her attention to Clarke.“Welcome home. You get moved in with Raven okay?”

Clarke nods. “Everything’s still in boxes, but when Ravensaw I cut my hair, she wanted to test out dying the tips. She’s on acolored-hair kick.”

Octavia tilts her head to assess it. “I do like the shorthair,” she prods with her change in tone, asking a question without saying it.

Clarke shrugs her shoulders. “Just wanted to start fresh.Moving back here, getting ready for the exhibit,” she trails off. “Everything’schanging, so why not my hair? Raven thinks the kids at the museum will like it.”

“Oh they definitely will,” Octavia agrees. “They’re going tothink you’re the coolest artist yet, and I’m saying that even though myboyfriend is one of the other artists.”

Clarke sighs, looking between the two of them. “Murphy’stransferring out to go to a culinary institute, you’re graduating from high school in a few weeks… when the hell did wegrow up?”

“Who says any of you are grown up?” Abby calls from thedoorway, fondly looking at her three kids and making her presence known, Marcuscoming in right behind her.

Clarke hops off the counter instantly, going to hug them bothin place of any of them having to respond.

“Welcome home, honey,” Abby says in her ear, before shestretches her arms out to get a good look at Clarke. “Now,” she pauses, “whatis with the hair.”

She hears her siblings simultaneously snort behind her.

—

Three months after Octavia and Murphy came, Clarke’s watchwent missing.

Her dad’s watchwent missing, Clarke’s most prized possession.

She looked everywhere for it. Sometimes she wore it, whenshe felt like she needed to be close to her father, but often, it was left inher room. She searched under dressers, in dressers, under her bed, and in everybag she had ever used.

She didn’t want to think it, didn’t even want the thought tocross her mind. But the more she looked, the more she was sure that the watchwasn’t there.

Someone had taken it.

She knocked on Murphy’s door, knowing he was inside. When hedidn’t answer, she opened it to find him reading on his bed.

He jumped in surprise at seeing her, closing the bookquickly and placing it behind him. “Uh, do you mind?” He said, tone clearlyaggravated.

“Yeah,” Clarke responded, “I actually do.” She steppedfurther into the room, making it clear she wasn’t leaving. “Look, I get thatyou don’t like me, and that’s fine, but it’s not okay to just go in my room andtake whatever you want.”

Murphy’s nostrils flared at her accusation. “I don’t knowwhat the hell you’re talking about.”

Clarke crossed her arms across her chest. “The watch. It’smy dad’s,” she went on. “Please just give it back.”

At that, Murphy stood to get off his bed and walked towardsher. “I didn’t take your damn watch Clarke,” he told her angrily. “I get youthink I’m stealing things left and right from your perfect house–”

“That’s not–,” Clarke tried to defend, but Murphy barreledon.

“But I’m not stupid!I know how this works, okay? The moment I fuck up, I get sent back. Do youreally think I don’t get that if I go back again, I’m probably going to bestuck there until I’m fucking eighteen?”He seethed, nostrils flaring with an anger Clarke couldn’t begin to imagine.

“I–,” she started, trying to find something, anything tosay. But it’d been three months since he got here, and the only thing she knewabout him was what was on paper.

She judged him, and she was furious with herself for doingit.

“Now who do you think would take something so obvious in the hopes that she couldbe sent back? So that she could be with her brother?” Murphy asked, taking astep away from Clarke to sit back on his bed.

“I’m sorry,” Clarke told him, guilt turning her stomach intoknots.

Murphy rolled his eyes, not looking at Clarke. Then he gotup, brushing past her to get to the door. “I’ll get your fucking watch back,and then you leave me the fuck alone.”

He headed down the hall to Octavia’s door.

Clarke followed, and watched as he knocked on the door andwaited, refusing to look at Clarke, but also not barging in like she had done.

The door creaked open after a minute or so, Octavia peeringout and glaring at him. “Cut the shit out and give Clarke her watch back,” hesaid, pushing the door open wider as he said it.

Octavia saw Clarke behind him, and her glare intensified,but she didn’t deny it. She turned back into her room, coming back a momentlater with Clarke’s watch in hand. Clarke reached out for it, Octavia refusingto meet her eyes.

“Did you tell your parents? Am I going back?” Clarke heard thenote of hope in her voice.

Clarke watched as Murphy shook his head, frustrated. “Thecourts decided that your brother wouldn’t be able to take care of you, Octavia.You do shit like this, you get sent back and then go to a different home. Hereyou can see Bellamy whenever you want, don’t be dumb.”

Clarke’s heart hurt with the acceptance she heard inMurphy’s voice, the pain she saw in Octavia’s eyes.

“We want you,” she heard herself saying, meeting both oftheir eyes when they looked back at her. “My mom and Marcus? Me? We want youboth to feel like you have a place you can call home, a place where you feel safe.”

“I have a home,”Octavia spit out.

“You’re right,” Clarke continued. “But now you have two. Iget that I’m never going to understand what you guys have gone through, but youcan talk to me. This can be your home too. There’s nothing you can do to makemy mom and Marcus send you back, including taking my watch.”

She looked to both of them, prayed they could see howserious she was, that she’d never uproot them over an object, no matter itsimportance.

“Whatever you say,” Murphy said after a moment, before headingback to his room, but purposely leaving his door open. Octavia watched him go,before turning to Clarke.

“Fine,” she responded, and then headed back into her room, herdoor staying open as well.

Clarke looked down at the watch in her hands, putting it inher pocket and releasing a breath. “Alright.”

Things were rough, but they were going to get better.

But Clarke still had to speak with Bellamy.

She hadn’t talked to him since that first time he hadsnapped at her with his harsh words. He visited Octavia all of the time, andAbby and Marcus spoke very highly of him, but he seemed to take the routeOctavia and Murphy had, and just ignore Clarke’s existence.

So when he rang the doorbell at the usual time one day,right after he got off from work, it was Clarke who answered.

The patronizing look she got from him was enough for her tomatch it with a glare. “Princess,” he said with a lift of his chin, walkingpast her into the house.

“Octavia thinks that if she gets put back into the system,she’ll be able to come live with you,” she informed him, getting right to thepoint.

Clarke watched the tension racket up his back at her words,and her gut twisted at realizing how less tense he’d become when coming over.

Bellamy was getting used to the situation. He came wheneverhe could, either to hang out with Octavia, even Murphy, or take Octavia for acouple of hours to spend some time together. And the agitation she felt comingfrom him at her words told her she had unsettled whatever calm he had obtainedthrough that routine.

He turned slowly towards her, acknowledging her in a way henever had. “And it’s my fault, right?” He sneered, taking a step toward her. “Ishould just stop seeing my sister all together?”

“Of course not,” Clarke answered immediately, trying to takehis anger in stride. “I just want you to be aware, because I don’t want hergoing and doing something that she can’t come back from.”

At that, Bellamy scoffed, and Clarke stepped forward,exasperated.

“Look, you can think whatever you want, but I care about herand Murphy and what happens to them. And we both know Octavia is more willingto listen to you than anyone else. Please just talk to her.”

Clarke watched as Bellamy ran a hand through his hair,turning away for a moment, before turning back towards her. “I’ll talk to her,”he finally answered.

She let out a relieved breath. “Thank you.”

But that only pulled a bitter laugh out of him.

“Just mind your own business next time, and you won’t haveto stress yourself out so much, Princess.”

She gaped at him, trying to ignore the sting of his wordsand focusing on the tension in his jaw, the look that was always directed ather – amused, condescending, and completely uninterested in anything she had tosay.

It was then she truly realized, no matter what she did, whatshe said, he was never going to give her a chance.

—

“Alright! Everyone make sure you don’t forget your capes andcrowns!” Clarke calls as she sees the clock on the wall hit eight o’clock. “Andmake sure you grab your pictures off of the drying rack on your way out!T-shirts are still wet, so you’ll get them the next time you’re here!” She addsas the group of kids start bunching together, trying to grab all of theirthings and head out into the main lobby of the museum where parents are waitingfor them.

She wipes her hands on her paint-stained smock, only gettinghalf of the color off of her hands before reaching up to adjust her own crownon her head, her blue nub of a ponytail popping out wildly from the top.

Following the last of the kids out the room, she speaks witha few of the parents while waiting for everyone to be picked up. Once everyone’sgone, heading out of the museum and showing off all they have done over thepast few hours, Clarke heads back in to clean up.

She unties her smock and tosses it to the side, noticingimmediately that she already has additional stains on the Ark U t-shirt Murphyhad gotten her for Christmas last year. She shouldn’t be surprised, themajority of her wardrobe is covered in paint at this point.

She starts with picking up the lingering paintbrushes, onlyto drop them all in a clatter when a voice speaks up from behind her.

“Wow, it looks like a rainbow threw up in here.”

The comment itself, doesn’t do much to startle her.Honestly, it does look exactly like that, with everyone’s t-shirts they had tie-dyedat the beginning of class hanging from string Clarke had draped from theceiling, a colorful cape or two lingering on abandoned chairs as well.

It’s the person who says it that has her raising herdefenses before she can even turn around.

She turns to find Bellamy leaning against the door of themuseum’s activity room, looking relaxed in a way she’s never seen him. And he’swearing a security uniform.

He smirks at her – in a way she’s never seen before either,almost fond – when she continues tojust stand there, waiting for a biting remark to come. “Do you need some help?”

Clarke continues to just stare at him, completelydumbstruck. “I– what?” She asks when she realizes this time he’s waiting forher to respond, and she’s taking way too long, trying to figure out what thehell is going on.

But Bellamy doesn’t look at her in anger, or frustration, ora condescending way. He just repeats his question, if not while looking alittle unsettled himself.

“Do you want some help cleaning up? I’ve got time, securityhere is pretty digital at this point, so if something happens, the other guy oncamera duty will give me a heads up.”

“Uh,” Clarke starts, still thrown, “sure, I could use thehelp.” She can’t help but eye him warily as he leaves his spot by the door tostart grabbing the paint palettes from the tables and bringing them to the sinkto wash them off. She continues watching him from behind as she picks up thescattered brushes she had dropped.

“So,” he calls from over his shoulder, “is this a newprogram starting up for the summer?”

She takes her time placing the brushes back where theybelong before answering, trying to figure out his angle on all of this. “Kindof,” she hedges, “it’s a weekly program where local artists come in to workwith the kids using different art mediums. It’s my first time doing it, and Idefinitely over planned.” She feels his eyes follow hers to where the t-shirtsare hanging. “Whoever’s in next week can pass back their disguises.”

“Disguises?” He asks, turning to fully look at her. Shecan’t get over how open, how curious he’s being. Is this where they’re at? Afterthree years of not seeing each other, not speaking, they can be civil to eachother?

“Each artist picks their own theme, or medium, orsomething,” she explains. He looks at her expectantly, and she can’t get overall of these parts of him she’s never seen before. “Mine was ‘badass superheroes with a royal twist,’ but the badass part was just kind of implied,because of, you know, kids being twelve and under.”

He laughs, bright, and Clarke can feel the set of hershoulders start to relax.

“Okay, explain to me what ‘badass super heroes with a royaltwist’ entails,” he says while finishing the palettes and moving on to wipingthe tables down.

And she does.

She tells him how she’s not a fan of the whole ‘girls areprincesses and boys are superheroes’ thing, how she wanted to give them both,blend them together. Girls can be superheroes and boys can princesses. They canbe both.

“Whatever the hell they want,” Bellamy says, which draws asmile from her.

“Exactly,” she continues excitedly. “So not surprisingly,since they had the choice for once, a lot of them chose both. I wanted to paintmasks on their faces like mine,” she adds while gesturing to the navy bluestrip of glitter paint that surrounds her eyes like an eye mask, “but again, Igot way in over my head with too much stuff and had to ax it. Maybe next time.”

By this point, the room is as clean as it’s going to get,and they’ve settled into two of the chairs at one of the tables as Bellamylistens to her.

It can’t be this easy. After never exchanging a kind word,barely speaking, always fighting, it can’t be this easy to start over with him.

And it turns out, it isn’t.

“So Princess,” he hesitantly reaches up to toy with the crownstill settled on her head, and Clarke’s blood runs cold.

Princess.

“Are you a full-time artist, or do you go to Ark U?” Heasks, gesturing to her shirt with the hand that was just playing with her crown.

Clarke’s mind remains absolutely blank for a solid tenseconds before everything settles into place, and during that time, Bellamycontinues looking at her in that way she’s never, ever seen.

The blue hair, the crown covering her little bit of blondehair, the mask painted on her face, the paint covering her arms and clothing,the fact that they haven’t spoken in three years. That they really never spoketo begin with.

He doesn’t recognizeme.

“Um, no,” she begins, trying to process everything that’shappened in the past half hour or so in a different light. He doesn’t know who I am, runs on repeat in her head. “I don’t goto school,” she settles on. It’s been so nice talking to him, and she doesn’twant to ruin it. “I wouldn’t say I’m a full-time artist or anything, but I’mhoping I get there one day.”

She doesn’t notice she was staring at her hands clenchedtogether until she feels Bellamy lean in closer, giving her a reassuring smileunder the curls falling over his eyes. “I bet you’re awesome,” he tells herwith a confidence she sometimes feels she doesn’t even have in herself.

Clarke’s not sure how her heart can expand and her stomachcan twist simultaneously. But it does. “What about you?” She asks, attemptingto steer the conversation away from her.

“I’m at Ark U,” he starts. Octavia told me, she wants to say. “I’m working towards being ahistory teacher eventually. I just finished this semester, and I hopefully havetwo more to go and then I’ll be done. I work here during the summers andbreaks. My– uh, well, it’s complicated. But I know someone who put in a goodword for me here when I started school a few years ago, and the museum’s beenreally good with letting me come back.”

It’s a lot to hear at once. A lot to take in.

She knew he had started school the semester after she leftfor college, but of course he’d still have to work.

What surprises her more than anything is that he let Marcushelp him.

It’s a lot of information, but she doesn’t want him to know that.“You like history?” She chooses to ask, because who would have thought. BellamyBlake – history buff.

He ducks his head, like he’s embarrassed, before lookingback up at her with a smile that’s pure happiness. “Being able to work in ahistory museum is almost my dream job, minus the fact that I’m security insteadof a tour guide,” he admits, cheeks flushing.

Clarke’s having a hard time accepting everything that ishappening right now as anything more than a dream. This can’t really behappening right now. She can’t be so charmed with a man who has never given herthe time of day.

But that’s the thing. For the first time, unknowingly ornot, Bellamy is giving her a chance.

So she takes it.

“Well, I think we should take a tour of the museum then.It’s closing up in,” she glances at the clock, “five minutes. I bet you knowall the secret passages and hidden exhibits that only come to life at nightwhen the museum closes.”

He tries to hide is smile, and absolutely fails. “YeahPrincess?”

And that’s the other thing.

She’s never heard that word, directed at her, coming fromhim, with such fondness. How easily she could get used to hearing it like thatall the time. She doesn’t think she’d mind the nickname then.

She watches him as he stands and reaches out for her hand.“Then let’s get going, your night at the museum awaits,” he jokes.

Taking his hand, she gets pulled out of her seat. Grabbingher bag, she gets pulled into a private tour with Bellamy Blake.

—

“Who’s the kid following my sister around like a lostpuppy?”

Clarke took her time to grab a soda from the cooler she’dbeen digging through before turning to face him. “Bellamy.”

“Princess,” he smirked.

She searched for Octavia in the group of kids in the pool,finding the focus of Bellamy’s attention immediately. “That’s Ilian, a friendof Octavia’s.” She watched as Octavia laughed freely, splashing Wells and Ravenin the pool as Ilian joined in and soaked Octavia with a splash of his ownarms.

Bellamy scoffed. “Friend,right. There a reason you invited a kid three years younger than you to yourgraduation party?” You’re here, you’retwo years older, she wanted to say, but she knew he was only here becauseMarcus had insisted that he stop by and Miller was here with Monty.

Clarke ignored the bait, looking at him with an even gaze asBellamy continued to glare at Ilian. It’s as if he’s hoping Ilian would somehowfeel it from across the pool where Bellamy and Clarke were standing by thesnack area Marcus and her mom had set up out back for the kids while the adultsmingled in the house.

“I invited Jasper and Monty,” she said pointedly, gesturingto where Monty and Miller were floating in tubes as they watched Jasper bellyflop into the pool. “But they’re only a year younger, so I suppose that doesn’tcount.”

The glare directed at Ilian switched to her instantly.“That’s different, and we both know it.”

Clarke couldn’t help the roll of her eyes, even if shewanted to. “They’re fourteen, Bellamy, what could they possibly get up to witha house full of adults and you refusing to look away from them for more thantwo seconds. She’s having fun, let her.”

It’s apparently the wrong thing to say, because she couldfeel the tension radiate off of him almost instantly. “It figures you’dencourage it, what do you care if he’s a hormonal teenage boy who’ll be on tothe next pretty girl he sees by tomorrow.”

“Excuse me?”Clarke crossed her arms in front of her, gearing up for the apparent fight theywere going to have in the middle of her party. “Ilian is a nice kid. He andOctavia like to hang out, and it hasn’t been an issue. Stop making it soundlike it’s something terrible.”

“So this has been something that’s been going on? And no onethought to mention it to me?” His jaw locked, vein popping on one side. “God,you’re such an enabler.”

She had no time to appreciate the fact that this was thelongest conversation they had ever had. Not when his words were becoming moreand more heated and he was blaming her for seemingly nothing.

“An enabler?Seriously?”

“You say you care about her and then you let her get awaywith anything that doesn’t affect you,” he accused, anger rising by the second.

“She didn’t do anything! Theydidn’t do anything! Octavia asked if he could come and I told her yes. It’sa safe environment and there’s enough people here for it to be a group settingwhere she could feel comfortable. I’m not an idiot, I knew what I was doing.” Clarketried not to yell, not to shove him until he gets a grip, but he was beingridiculously judgmental, even for him. She was used to being the target of hisanger, but he’s mad enough that apparently anyone’s fair game.

“You still don’t get it–,” he started, but Clarke cut himoff.

“Get what? That you’re a judgmental ass? Believe me, I’veknown that since we met,” she spit out, frustrated with how he was getting toher. She could see that they were starting to gather the attention of everyoneby the pool.

“You’re not her family, Clarke!” He yelled abruptly, haltinganything that she was going to say next. “You’re not her family,” he repeated,seething, “you’re not her sister, you have no say on what is good for her, haveno clue what is good for her.”

The fight went out of her instantly, replaced by a suddenhurt she didn’t think Bellamy could inflict. She saw Bellamy’s eyes widen,thought for a second he’d apologize for his cruel words.

Instead he just cut deeper, eyes hardening again. “You go tocollege, and you’ll forget all about her and Murphy in no time.”

She latched onto the last remnants of her anger, enough forher to shove him, enough for him to take a step back. “You’re an asshole, Bellamy. You have a chance togo to school now, instead of running yourself into the ground with workinghowever many different jobs–”

“I’m not interested in–”

“Like hell you’re not interested!” She shouted, noting theircaptive audience in the pool. “Octavia told me how you were supposed to go tocollege before everything happened. How you changed your mind to take care ofher. But she’s taken care of, start taking care of your goddamn self.”

For once, he was speechless.

So she powered on, ignoring the eyes of everyone frozenaround them.

“You have a chance to get the education you want. Go far,stay close, I don’t care. Ark U is right here, you’d be able to see Octaviaanytime like you do now,” she told him, the last of her anger dissipating.

He stood in front of her, continuing to not say anything.She watched him as he turned to see everyone else break from their stares andstumble to make it look like they hadn’t heard the entire thing.

They both watched Octavia storm out of the pool straighttowards them.

And then, without a word, he turned away and started walkingtoward the front of the house, undoubtedly to his car. Octavia followed afterhim, wrapping a towel around herself and yelling at him as she trailed behindhim.

Clarke watched the Blakes as they disappeared to the frontof the house, feeling her eyes burn, but refusing to let herself cry overanything that came out of Bellamy’s mouth.

She felt someone come up from behind her to stand to herright. “Graduation and college are touchy subjects for him,” Miller said, eyesstaying on the spot where Octavia and Bellamy had disappeared to. “He was onedge since he got here.”

Clarke’s gaze stayed on the same spot. “That’s no excuse.”She hated that her voice wobbled, ever so slightly.

“It’s not,” Miller agreed, “but I hope you understand.”

Clarke nodded sharply once. “I understand that no matterwhat I do, Bellamy’s opinion of me is never going to change.”

She ignored Miller’s sigh in favor of popping her soda canopen and heading towards her friends.

She ignored the fact that Bellamy had actually called her byher real name for the first time since they met.

—

They wander through the museum for hours.

He tells her everything he knows about each exhibit as theyhead from room to room, and Clarke finds herself completely enthralled with hisstories. Bellamy’s animated when he talks, hands flying out as he tells her allabout the Roman Empire after making their way through its exhibit, eyesgleaming with excitement when she asks him questions.

It’s something she never could have imagined experiencing –Bellamy smiling at her, wanting to hear what she has to say about this paintingor that statue – but she is.

He asks about her own art when they make it back to the mainlobby.

“I’m guessing that you like to paint, since you had the kidswork with it,” he eyes her arms, making her cheeks warm, “and well, you’recovered in it.”

“I sketch a lot too.”

“Yeah?” Bellamy smiles, pleased. “What do you draw?” Clarkehesitates for a second, and he catches it. “You don’t have to share if youdon’t want to,” he adds.

“No, it’s not that,” Clarke explains while making her wayover to one of the cushioned benches on the outer edge of the lobby. Hefollows. “It’s just that I draw a lot of different things. People, places,whatever gives me inspiration. I sketch and paint, but the topic is alwaysdifferent.”

“Can I see?” His eyes hold nothing but pure curiosity asthey sit down on the bench.

No, is the simpleanswer. Her main sketch book has drawings of everything she sees on aday-to-day basis. And that includes drawings of Octavia, Murphy, Monty andMiller, her mom and Marcus, Raven and Wells. It’d give her away in a heartbeat.

But she could show him something else.

She reaches into her bag, bypassing her large sketchbook infavor of the thinner one right next to it. “Okay,” she places the book inbetween them on the bench, so that when she opens it, half is balanced on herleg and half is balanced on his, “these are just doodles really. But, um,they’re concept art for a story I can’t get out of my head. I’m thinking oftrying to make it a comic eventually.”

“What’s the idea?” He asks, already beginning to flipthrough the pages.

“A girl who’s both. Who says she can’t be a princess whokicks ass and saves the world?”

Bellamy smiles at her. “Fight those gender norms, right?”

“Yup.” She takes a chance and bumps his shoulder with hers.“It’s a really rough plan right now, but I brought it to show the kids, so theyknew where I was pulling our activities from.”

She watches as he traces his finger over the crown she drewat the bottom of the page. On every page. “Is this your signature?”

Clarke glances back at him, before looking down at thecrown, her crown. “Yeah, it just stuck with me when I drew it one day.” Aftershe dropped out of school, after the initial blowout with her mom because ofit, she drew anything that came to mind, and the crown just wouldn’t leave her.

Bellamy looks back to her, drawing her attention to him.“You really are a princess,” he teases. “A princess without a name,” he addsafter a moment, the question clear in his tone.

And just as Clarke feels the panic set in deciding whethershe should tell him who she is or not, her phone goes off in her bag, blaringthe ringtone Octavia had assigned herself ages ago.

It’s enough to rattle her into standing up, if only soBellamy won’t see Octavia’s picture pop up on her screen. “I’m sorry, I have totake this,” she tells him, before bolting to the other side of the lobby.“Hello?”

“Clarkey!” Octavia yells from the other end. Whether shemeans to be yelling or not is another question entirely.

Clarke sighs, exasperation setting in immediately. “Hey,where are you?” Octavia only drinks when she’s with her or Murphy, or whenshe’s at Jasper’s.

“Monty and Jasper are hosting a pre-graduation party,” sheconfirms, speech only slightly slurred. “But I’m ready to leave.”

“How did you get there?”

“Murphy dropped me off, but he’s out with Emori now.Bellamy’s working tonight, and I don’t want to get a lecture from him anyways.”Clarke can’t help her eyes falling on Bellamy when Octavia mentions him, buthe’s still looking at her book.

She checks the time on her phone. “Alright, I’ll be there bymidnight,” she tells her, walking towards the museum’s entrance.

“And not a minute later!” Octavia exclaims just as Clarkelocks her phone.

“I have to head out,” Clarke calls to Bellamy from theentrance, praying he doesn’t get up. He does, of course, making his way towardsher.

When he makes it over to her, she can see the worry clear onhis face. “Everything okay?”

“Oh yeah, it’s just my–,” she stumbles over the word‘sister,’ knowing it’s his sister too. And how would she even begin to explainthat? “It’s my sister, she needs to be picked up from a friend’s house.”

“You have a sister?”

She winces, hopes he misses it. Of course he’d focus onthat, his sister is his entire life.

“I do,” she says, immediately changing the subject. “I had areally great time,” she steps toward the entrance, pushing the gigantic dooropen with a shove, “thanks for the tour, and the help cleaning up. But I reallyhave to go, I’m sorry.”

Clarke can feel herself getting more and more agitated,feeling her real world start to smother the wonderful, almost magical, timeshe’s had with him over the past few hours, and trying to get out before everythingblows up in her face.

Miraculously, Bellamy stays where he is, but it’s clear hedoesn’t want her to leave just yet. “Hey, wait,” he hesitates just on the otherside of the threshold, seeming to think something over. “Can I at least getyour name?”

She stares at him, just as the door starts to slowly closebetween them, to see the question in his eyes, the confusion, the plea. All ofit mixed what she thinks might be hope.

She wants to, god does she want to tell him the truth.

It’s me, Clarke.

But that hope would turn to disdain in a heartbeat, she’ssure of it.

Smiling at him with a regret she can feel down to her toes,she shakes her head before running down the stairs.

He lets her go, and their little fairytale bubbleeffectively bursts.

—

Clarke was sitting on the edge of the pool, feet dangling inthe water, when Octavia plopped herself down next to her.

Her friends were still fooling around on the other side ofthe pool, leaving Clarke alone when she said she just needed a moment alone.She felt drained, and kind of just wanted the party to end.

“Bellamy was out of line, and he knows it,” Octavia said asthey both watched their feet make waves in the water. “He promised me he’d benice.”

At that, Clarke barked out a laugh. “Octavia, your brotherhates me. It’d probably kill him to be nice to me.”

“He doesn’t hate you,” she told Clarke, equal partssurprised and earnest, turning to look at her. “He just– he has a hard timeaccepting help, so all the things Marcus and Abby do for me are like more andmore things he will owe them for.”

Clarke rolled her eyes. “They do everything they do becausethey love you, those aren’t things they expect repayment for. And that hasnothing to do with me.”

“You probably have done the most for me, actually,” Octavialaughed. “You pushed and pushed until Murphy and I let you in. You watch outfor us, and you always listen when I need to talk.” She reached out, takingClarke’s hand. “You’re my sister, Clarke.”

Clarke felt her heart squeeze, listening to Octavia. She hadhoped that she and Murphy would see themselves as part of their family one day,but she wasn’t sure it would ever happen. Her sister.

“I’m going to miss you when you leave in the fall, andMurphy will too, whether he says it or not,” Octavia admitted. “And Bell knew that,so it probably was a factor too. He’s spent his whole life looking after me,and now here I am, with people who care about me that aren’t just him. I thinkhe worries he’ll be left behind.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Clarke argued, squeezing her hand.“He’s so important to you. Mom and Marcus think the world of him in partbecause of how much he cares about you.”

Octavia smiled, almost a little sad. “I know that. I thinkhe just doesn’t know how to stop worrying.”

Clarke could see the way the conversation affected Octavia, anddidn’t want her day to end on a bad note too. So she bumped her shoulder withhers, choosing to focus on something else, for both of them. “Enough about yourbrother. You and Ilian look like you’re getting along well,” she teased.

The blush that flooded Octavia’s cheeks told Clarkeeverything she needed to know, even without Octavia stuttering away excuseswhile Clarke smirked knowingly.

—

A week after the museum, Clarke finds herself in her parents’kitchen again, sketching the scene in front of her – Murphy teaching Emori howto bake cookies from scratch.

“John, we could have been done already if you just let meput a pack of the pre-made dough in the oven,” Emori complains, not for thefirst time, as Murphy starts adding morsels to the dough she is currentlymixing.

“Pre-made dough,”Murphy scoffs, and Clarke can’t help her smile as she focuses on her drawing.The two of them look so domestic, even with them constantly throwing quips ateach other. They’re cute, and Clarkenever thought she’d use that term to describe her brother.

Octavia comes into the kitchen like a whirlwind, headspinning to take in what is going on before making her way towards Clarke andsettling into the seat next to her, placing her crossed arms on the counter infront of her and sighing dramatically when no one acknowledges her directly.

“Octavia,” Emori calls from by the oven, “do you wantcookies in the next ten minutes? Or the next three hours?”

They both watch from the counter as Murphy rolls his eyes.“They’ll be ready in like twenty minutes tops, not three hours! And they’ll be delicious,” he adds, mock-glaring atEmori.

Their glares hold for a whole second before they’re lookingat each other fondly again.

Octavia chooses to ignore them, focusing her attention onClarke, which should be her first sign. “Your hair’s back to normal,” sheobserves, tugging on a short strand to apparently scrutinize the blonde qualityof it.

“It wastemporary.” She swats Octavia’s hand away so she can capture the admiration onMurphy’s face to make fun of him later.

When Clarke continues to ignore her in favor of her sketch,Octavia decides to give Clarke a heart attack.

“I just came back from lunch with Bell,” she says, voice fartoo innocent for Clarke’s liking. That should have been her second sign.

She pauses for a second at the mention of Bellamy, but keepsdrawing, not thinking about the Bellamy from a week ago and trying to continueto act like she would any other time Bellamy’s name would come up.

Which would be to hum and nod until Octavia moved on totalking about something else.

So she hums and nods, laser-focusing on her book.

“Yeah,” Octavia goes on, “all he could talk about was somegirl he met at work last weekend.”

And that, is when the heart attack slowly starts to set in.

“A girl?” Emori chimes in, grabbing any reason to come overand leave the baking to Murphy. “He met a girl while working night shift? Isthat even possible?”

“Was it a statue?” Murphy asks, starting to roll the doughinto balls and put them on a tray.

“Nope,” Octavia responds, head tilting to observe even theslightest change in how Clarke moves. She can feel her heart starting to pound,her skin tingling. And she can feel Octavia’s eyes watching her like a hawk. There’sabsolutely no way Bellamy figured out it was her, but Octavia is a whole otherspecies of observant. “She was the artist this week for the local artistsprogram that’s been going on. Apparently they spent hours going through themuseum, but then she left in a rush before he could get her name, only leavinga sketch book behind.”

“Of course she did,” Murphy says while sliding the tray intothe oven. “Sounds like some kind of serious Cinderella shi–,” he halts, whippingaround to face the three of them, realization dawning on his face as Clarke’surge to crawl under the counter intensifies. “Holy fuck.”

“What?” Emori asks curiously, completely oblivious toClarke’s turmoil as Murphy stares at her in shock and Octavia smirkstriumphantly.

Octavia chooses not to answer her, instead continuing onwith her conversation in a far-to-casual tone. “Yeah, I guess this girl wasamazing. Totally passionate about what she does, seemed interested in all of hisnerding out about the different exhibits, an incredible artist…”

Clarke can feel her face burning as she closes her book andplaces her stuff on the counter, turning to glare at her and ignore Murphygaping. She can’t even begin to pick apart the things Octavia is saying.

Emori looks between the three of them. “I’m clearly missingsomething.”

“I thought I was too,” Octavia says. “It just wasn’t addingup to me, because I know who the artist this week was, and what my brother wastelling me wasn’t making sense, because he knows her too. That is, until hetold me about her hair.”

“Her hair?” Emori says, confused, looking to Clarke for someexplanation.

Murphy finishes the story, eyes never leaving Clarke. “Herhair was blue. He didn’t know it was her.”

“How do you know that?” Emori asks Murphy, but stops fromasking anything else when she sees the other two staring expectantly at Clarke.

It’s quiet after that, all three of them looking for threevery different explanations. And she realizes with a start that if Octaviaknows…

“Please tell me you didn’t tell him,” she tells Octavia,panicked for reasons she couldn’t even begin to explain. All she knows is thathe can’t know it was her.

“What I’m not getting is why you didn’t.” Octavia levels herwith a look that can only be described as unimpressed.

Emori’s eyes widen when she finally understands. “Holy shit,Clarke is Cinderella.”

“I’m not Cinderella,” Clarke groans, putting her head downon the counter in defeat.

“Clarke,” Octavia starts once Clarke peers up through herarms. “Do you realize he’s been trying to find you? He’s been going around toplaces that host art from local artists looking for your signature. He actuallyasked me to find out if Lincoln knew who you were. You’re all he could talkabout today! This princess who he can’t get out of his head.”

“That’s just it!” Clarke argues, lifting her head defiantly.He’s been looking for me, plays onloop in her head. “This princess that he’s actually known for years and ohyeah, he actually can’t stand,” she finishes, dismayed.

Octavia looks almost hurt at her words. “That’s not true.”

“Yes it is, Octavia.” Clarke can hear the disappointment inher voice. “The minute Bellamy finds out it’s me, it will be over before it caneven start.”

“You make it sound like he’ll find out eventually,” Murphypoints out, leaning in on the other side of the counter.

Clarke looks at Octavia, trying to portray her thoughtswithout having to say it. Octavia may do anything for Clarke, but she wouldnever lie to her brother, especially when Bellamy is asking for her andLincoln’s help.

Understanding, and frustration, dawns on Octavia’s face. “Ican’t lie to him,” she says. “I don’t know what you think will happen once hefinds out. He’s not the angry eighteen-year-old you met when I came here. Butyou have to give him a chance.”

“Like he’s always given me a chance?” Whatever tiny bit ofindignation Clarke has in her decides to make an appearance, even if she knowsit’s not fair.

Octavia’s expression changes from one of frustration toanger instantly and Emori and Murphy eye each other warily. “You mean duringthe time he lost the only parent he ever had and me? Or when his life was completely uprooted and he didn’t havea single stable outlet to turn to?” She challenges, and the guilt hits Clarkeinstantaneously.

Bellamy was a fleeting thought over the past three years,and before that, she was in no place to hold what he said against him. His lifehad fallen apart, and he was trying to stand on his feet for no other reasonthan to make sure Octavia was okay. She was the only constant in his life, andhe was taking on responsibilities people his age couldn’t even begin toimagine, including Clarke.

She said that she had understood, that she got it, but howcould she possibly ever?

“I’m sorry. I’m just– I should have told him, but I’ve neverseen him like that and I liked it. Iliked that he joked with me and was sweet. He was animated and passionate andthrew himself into our conversations. I didn’t want to ruin it,” she admitsglumly.

“Clarke,” Octavia sighs, frustrated. “That is my big brother. He’s awkward, and anerd, and clearly doesn’t know how to get a girl’s name, let alone her number. Youmet him at the worst point in his life. The guy you remember literally doesn’texist, let him show you.”

Clarke tries to imagine a world where everything works outthe way Octavia thinks it will. But real life doesn’t turn out like that, lifeisn’t a fairytale.

She opts to burrowing her head in her arms again, groaningin frustration. “And if he does hate me?” She asks, voice smaller than she’dlike.

She feels Octavia move to wrap her arm around her, squeezingher reassuringly. “I know my brother, and I’m 99% sure he’s head over heels forthe princess, for you.”

“And,” Murphy adds while sliding a plate of warm cookiestowards her until it bumps her arms, “if that other 1% were to happen, we’lljust drown your sorrows in delicious, home-made cookies.”

“John.”

Clarke picks up her head once more, stealing a cookie andstuffing it in her mouth forlornly. “I’ll tell him once everything with theexhibit is over.”

At Octavia’s dubious look, Clarke reaches for her hand andgives it a squeeze.

“Give me the week till then, and I’ll tell him right after.I promise.”

—

That summer before college, Clarke spent as much time aspossible with her friends and family. She never saw Bellamy again.

She went to school, and kept in touch with Octavia, Raven,and Wells all the time, Murphy every once in a while.

Octavia would give her updates on her life, which would ofcourse include updates on Bellamy as well. How could it not, when she loved himso much?

Clarke, he decided tostart taking night classes! Isn’t that amazing?

He’s switching tofull-time at Ark U!

He seems so muchhappier, Clarke. He’s doing well.

When she was home for breaks, she never saw him. She wasconvinced he specifically avoided coming to the house when he knew she washome.

And when Clarke dropped out, after she realized she couldn’tdo what she was doing for however many more years of school, let alone the restof her life, she didn’t come home immediately. She rented an apartment for ayear with the money her dad had left her, and sat around for a month before hersketchbook found its way into her hands after years of neglect.

And she drew, and sketched, and painted.

It was the hardest time she’d had since her dad died. Shevisited home, came for holidays, but she kept going back to that apartment tokeep drawing, sketching, and painting until she was ready to come home forgood, and make her passion a reality.

She spoke with Raven and Octavia constantly. They kept hergoing, telling her about everything and anything going on in their lives orwith the people at home – Raven moving on to her masters faster than anyoneelse in her program, Murphy dating a girl who matched his fire with her own,Octavia meeting an artist who was gentle and kind.

But after a while, Bellamy’s name didn’t come up. Octavia stoppedmentioning him to her.

And Clarke didn’t ask.

—

“Are you nervous?”

Clarke turns to where Raven is standing in the doorway toher bedroom while she puts her other earring in.

“Of course I am,” she admits, running her hands down thefront of her black dress, “but it’s not like I’m selling them or anything, soeven if it’s just you guys that show up, I won’t have pure tangible proof thatnobody wants to buy my paintings.”

Raven rolls her eyes, moving into the room and ploppingherself on Clarke’s bed. “The whole town shows up for these exhibits whetherthey’re good or bad, and yours kicks ass. I bet people are going to be offeringyou money for them anyway.”

Clarke still gives her a nervous smile, turning back towardthe mirror for one final check.

She decided to move back when she did because she was ready.She had missed her friends and family more than anything, but she also knewthat she wasn’t getting anything more out of staying in the apartment. Betweenspeaking with Lincoln about the program he was involved with at the museum, andMarcus encouraging her to submit some of her pieces for the monthly Local Art Show,she knew it was time.

It’s just, this is the first time her work will be out therefor people to critique.

Running her hands through her hair one more time, theysettle on the pink tinged at the tips. “I like the pink better than the blue,”she tells Raven, who snorts in response.

“That’s because it’s not your entire head that’s pink. Itold you I’d get it right when we did it for real.”

She turns back to Raven. “You and Wells will be there whenit starts?”

Raven sits up from where she was laying. “We’ll be the firstones in, right after Abby and Marcus.”

Clarke gives her a nod before going to grab her bag off thedresser. She’s too keyed up to not get there early to make sure everything isset up how she left it the night before.

Octavia hadn’t been thrilled about withholding the truthfrom her brother, but she knew how important this exhibit was to Clarke. So forthe week leading up to it, Octavia reluctantly told Clarke when Bellamy was onshift at the museum so that she could go in and set up her section of theexhibit when he wasn’t there.

She knew the moment he heard her voice, he’d realize thetruth for himself.

But she’s not expecting him to be standing in front of her landscapepaintings when she walks in to do her final check, wearing his securityuniform.

She freezes on the spot, eyes widening in a combination ofsurprise, anxiety, and nervous energy.

He turns at the sound of her heels on the tiled floor, andhis eyes widen too, his in complete shock.

“Clarke?”

She just stands there, not knowing what emotions are runningthrough her, let alone knowing what to say.

“O said you were back in town, I just never expected to seeyou here,” Bellamy says.

Clarke watches him, tries to analyze what he’s thinking byhis tone. He doesn’t sound accusatoryor angry, but she’s also never heard her name come out his mouth like that –just pure surprise.

Does he know? Did he figure it out before she had a chanceto tell him?

When she doesn’t respond, he ducks his head, smile wry. “Ijust got off my shift, but I wanted to check something out in the exhibitbefore it opens tonight.”

He’s been going aroundto places that host art from local artists looking for your signature.

Bellamy turns his head back to her paintings, and shewatches his eyes focus on the crown settled in the corner of one of them.

“You don’t happen to know the girl who did these, do you?”He asks, gesturing to her work.

If Clarke’s stomach wasn’t wound up in enough knots, itcertainly is at realizing he stilldoesn’t know it’s her. If she doesn’t tell him now, there will be no going backfrom this.

She opens her mouth. “I–,” and then shuts it again.

But he’s looking at her so curiously, if not the slightest bit confused. He may not know she’sthe girl he’s been looking for, but he knows that she’s Clarke – the girl he’sknown for years – and could Octavia be right? The guy she remembers wasn’t whoBellamy really is?

“They’re mine,” she tells him, voice far stronger than shefeels. “I’m one of the artists showcasing tonight.”

His curiosity turns to confusion instantly, glancing betweenher and the pieces again before turning to face her fully. She didn’t realizehow well she’d been able to read his emotions over the years until his face iscompletely unreadable.

“You’re her?” He asks, tone unreadable too. “The princesswith the blue hair?” She feels his eyes narrow in on her pink hair.

“Yes,” she says, trying not to panic as she takes a steptowards him. “I was going to tell you–”

“But you didn’t, Clarke,” he cuts in, voice as neutral asever. He takes a step back. “You knew it was me the entire time and you chosenot to tell me.”

Clarke stays where she is, her heart beginning to splinterat how he’s looking at her. She has noidea what he is thinking, but dread is starting to creep up on her. “Iwanted to tell you, but I was afraid.”

“Afraid of me?” The hurt in his voice conveys exactly how heinterpreted her words.

“No! Of course not,” she protests. “At first I thought youknew it was me, and we were just going to start off fresh, but then you didn’tknow, and I was afraid that if you knew, you would realize you didn’t actuallywant to be there. That I was still the girl you couldn’t stand to be around.”

“Couldn’t stand,” he repeats, running a hand through hishair. “God Clarke, I know I was awful to you back then, but I didn’t know howto fix that. I thought you despised me, so I took myself out of the picture.”

“Bellamy–,” she tries, this time desperate. Despise him?

“I don’t hate you. I’ve never hated you.” He looks at her,and suddenly every emotion he was hiding is on full display for her to see. “I’msorry that you ever thought that I did, and I’m sorry that you felt youcouldn’t tell me the truth because you thought I wouldn’t want you once I foundout.”

He doesn’t give her a chance to respond before he’s makinghis way out of the exhibit, ignoring her pleas for him to stop, to wait. Shegrabs for his arm, but lets go when they get to the exit and Marcus and her momwalk through.

They’re separated when her mom pulls her in for a hug,telling her how excited she is to see the pieces Clarke submitted so they camea bit early, as Marcus greets Bellamy, who continues taking steps away.

“It’s good to see you, Marcus, but I have to head out,” hetells him, refusing to glance at Clarke as he makes his escape. She feels likeher heart is ripping in two, and she wonders if this is how he felt that nightshe had left in a rush.

He’s gone before she can even call his name, and she feelsher parents’ eyes on her from behind. “Everything okay?” Marcus asks.

She takes a minute to compose herself, swallow down everywild emotion, before she turns to give them a smile she knows they can read asfake.

“Everything’s fine,” she tells them, and goes to show themall of her hard work.

—

The rest of the night is a blur.

Far more people than she could have imagined show up tosupport her and the other artists, people she’s never seen before in her life.

But then there’s the people she knows and loves – herparents, Raven and Wells, Octavia and Lincoln, Murphy and Emori, Monty andMiller, even Jasper.

They all shower her with congratulations and praise, tellingher how the few pieces she was able to submit were amazing, and she allows fortheir words to flow through her, give her the energy to converse with strangersand network for businesses who may be interested in eventually purchasing oneof her paintings.

She does it all with a smile, and hours later, when thecrowd has broken and only a few people linger, she settles down on one of thevelvet benches in front of her work.

Not a minute later, Octavia drops down next to her, twoglasses of champagne in hand. She wordlessly hands one to Clarke, and continuesto stare at the paintings.

“I’m sure Marcus will be thrilled that the minors here havesuch easy access to the alcohol.”

“Ha. Ha,” Octavia retorts, making a show of taking a gulp. “Thiswas amazing. I’m so proud of you.”

Clarke sighs, all of the events from the night catching upwith her. “You’ll be prouder to know that I spoke with Bellamy,” she tells her,and that gets Octavia’s full attention.

“You did?”

“Yep,” she takes a sip from her glass. “And then he walkedright out the front door after confirming everything you’ve been trying to tellme. He doesn’t hate me,” Clarke takes another, larger sip, “but I also don’tthink we’ll ever get back what we had that night.”

“Oh Clarke,” Octavia says, tilting her head to rest it onClarke’s shoulder. “Give him some time.”

Clarke wasn’t sure all the time in the world could fix this,but she lets Octavia console and reassure her anyways.

“Hey! We’re heading to the house for the after party,” Ravencalls from the entrance to the exhibit, Lincoln and Wells standing behind her.It’s only then that Clarke realizes that everyone else has cleared out. “Youcoming with us, Octavia?”

She looks to Clarke. “I can stay, just head home with you.”

“You go,” Clarke insists. “I’ll head out soon, just want totake everything in a little while longer.”

Octavia hesitates, but ends up pulling Clarke in for a hugbefore moving to stand up. “He’ll come around,” she assures her, and heads outwith Raven and the boys in tow.

Alone, Clarke takes in a deep breath through her nose,letting out a long sigh as she closes her eyes. She’s not really surprised whenshe feels someone sit down next to her, figures it’s Raven or Wells coming toconvince her to come with them.

But then she opens her eyes to find Bellamy staring back ather with the smallest of smiles on his face, and Clarke is alert in an instant.

She takes him in, looking almost – shy. The fact that he’snow in a suit isn’t lost on her.

“Um, hi.” He clears his throat. “Here.”

From his other side, he lifts her small sketch book she hadleft behind that night, and gently places it in her hands that are settled inher lap. “I’ve been carrying it around in case I found you so I could returnit, and of course the one time I need it, I don’t have it.” The blush thatrises to his ears is not lost on her either.

Clarke can’t help the smile on her face. How did she neverpush to get him to let her in like she had with Octavia and Murphy? Why didn’tshe see his defenses were up?

Because now? He’s not hiding at all.

“I should have set everything straight the moment I figuredout you didn’t know,” she confesses, setting the book on her other side on thebench.

“Maybe,” he agrees, bright eyes catching her gaze, “but Iwouldn’t change that night for anything.”

What she should do is smile and say something to keeptalking until they have everything out in the open. But really, everything’slaid out pretty clearly. They both shouldn’t have said some things, should havesaid things they didn’t and done things differently. But they were either youngand hurting, or unaware and hesitant.

And now, they’re not.

Now, they’re sitting in a museum that only holds a smallpart of their story, and Clarke would really like to continue that story withhim.

So she closes the distance between them on the bench,brushing her lips against his softly, quickly. She pulls back almostimmediately, hoping she’s not ruining something she thinks could be amazing.

His eyes are wide, and she can practically see the hopewarring with something else there. She pushes that something else away by leaningin again, kissing him like she really wants to – full of promise and want andjoy.

He responds in kind, matching her kisses with ones of hisown that hold just as many promises, and possibly even more joy. His handreaches up into her curls, holding her head and pulling her even closer to him.

Eventually, Clarke finds she’s smiling too much to keepkissing him and pulls away to beam at him instead, and his responding smile isjust as satisfying as kissing him.

“So what does that mean?” He asks her as the hand in herhair softly runs over the pink strands. The look he’s giving her can only bedescribed as warm.

“I like you,” she responds instantly, pulling him in foranother quick kiss. “And I wouldn’t change that night for anything either,but…”

“But?” He prompts, leaning in close.

“But I want many, many more nights like that with you, andmore.”

“And more,” he echoes, grinning. “Sounds good to me, Princess.”

And so, the next chapter of their story begins.