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topazy · 4 years

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Silent bloom

Pairing: Finn Collins/reader

Warnings: Mentions of smut, suicide.

Chapter: 1.04

You wake up to the sound of nearby voices chattering.

The sudden feeling of a hand brushing strands of hair out of your voice caused you to open your eyes.

Finn smiled down at you, "hey."

"Hi." You cleared your throat before sitting up. "What’s going on?"

"Take it easy, Daze," Finn said, frowning. You didn’t listen and felt a sharp pain from sitting upright. "I told you to take it easy."

"Because you’re always right?" You snapped. Letting out a deep sigh, you noticed Finn was still smiling. "Sorry... I’m just surprised to be waking up."

Finn moved the chair he was sitting in closer to you. "Do you remember what happened?" He asked, giving you a sympathetic look.

"Wells," you sobbed. "Charlotte... killed him. I tried to save him, but I couldn’t. She asked me not to tell anyone... Then everything went fussy. I’m guessing Charlotte got caught?" Finn nodded. "Good. She deserved to be punished."

"Bellamy found you outside. He went looking for you after he noticed you had never returned to camp." The information Finn shared took you aback. You didn’t think Bellamy would have noticed? Or cared. "I’m so sorry for everything that’s happened since we arrived down here. I have not been a great friend."

"It’s fine, I’ve been a little bratty. And for the record, I didn’t sleep with Murphy." You watched Finn’s face turn white. "You look like you’ve seen a ghost."

"While you were out, a few things transpired. Murphy was accused of murdering Wells and trying to kill you."

"What?" Sure, you had pissed Murphy off when you kicked him down the ladder, but you didn’t think he would have physically hurt you. "What happened?"

"Some others thought we should punish him for his crimes and decided to float him."

You could feel the tears building up. This wasn’t right, none of it was right. "But you stopped them? Clarke and Bellamy run this place. They wouldn’t have let that happen."

“Bellamy... he’s the one that kicked the crate out from underneath Murphy. We cut him down and Charlotte confessed to her crime, then Murphy tried to hunt her down. He held a knife to Clarke’s throat, so Charlotte jumped off a cliff. She killed herself, so we all stopped fighting."

"Or from guilt." You frowned, not having any sympathy for the young girl. "I know she was just a kid, but what she did was wrong. Anyway, what happened to Murphy? What rock has he crawled under?"

Finn’s brown eyes bore into yours. "We banished him. Bellamy almost beat him to death, so Clarke banished him as an alternative."

"Oh, I see." You didn’t like the way his face seemed to light up when he spoke about the blonde. Sure, she likely saved your life, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t be jealous.

"Can I ask you something?" He asked in a low voice.

"Yeah, anything." You answered while letting him caress your face with his hand.

"What happened to your eye?"

You pulled away from him. "Anything but that, I don’t want to talk about it. Ever.”

Finn opened his mouth to say something, but paused when Octavia entered the room.

"Beat it, spacewalker," Octavia said playfully. "I haven’t spoken to my only friend in days."

"Hey!" Jasper protested, entering the room behind her.

"Only girlfriend, there’s a difference!" The younger Blake said defensively.

You stopped paying attention to your friends, jokingly arguing as you stared at Finn. The more you looked, the more tired and deflated he looked. Your former best friend excused himself and left.

—

An hour later, it was just Octavia who was sitting by your side. Monty had come by to say hello, then went back to trying to contact the ark, and Jasper left when his stomach rumbled.

"I honestly can’t believe how much I’ve missed. I’m almost resentful." You laughed.

Octavia shoved your elbow with hers. "I’m jealous of how much sleep you got. But seriously, don’t ever get stabbed again. You made me worried."

You smiled, "I’ll try."

Octavia’s smile softened, "What went on with Finn?"

"Nothing." You shrugged at the skeptical look she was giving you. "He filled me in on what happened, but that was it.

"Did you guys date or something on the Ark? Because he screams clingy boyfriend."

You pout. "No, we never dated. We were good friends... but that stopped when he got arrested. And what do you mean by clingy?"

Octavia rolled her eyes. "He refused to leave, apart from the whole Murphy Charlotte thing. He listened to some dumb thing Clarke said about infection and wouldn’t let anyone get to close to you. Hell, he kept kicking Bell out."

Bellamy came to visit you? "I woke up to Finn brushing my hair out of my face."

Your comment caused Octavia to let out a loud laugh. You couldn’t help but join in. You laughed until it physically hurt your stomach. causing Clarke to come in and scorn you both in case the vibrations burst your stitches.

—

"You should go back to camp, it isn’t safe out here."

You glared at him. "I am aware of that Finn, but somebody needs to keep you out of trouble."

Scoffing, he attempted to storm away, but you stepped in front of him. You followed Finn into a bunker after he left the camp. With your stomach still in pain, you were slower than him. When you arrived at the bunker, you found Finn trashing it.

"Move."

"No. I’m not going anywhere and neither are you. If you go out there, the Grounders will find you and kill you!" You yelled in frustration.

Finn looked down at you, "I didn’t think you’d care if I died."

"What?" You asked hurt. "Of course I care, you stupid idiot! It’s you who stopped caring!"

Finn’s face was now a shade of red you’d never seen before. "What? I’ve always cared about you! I wouldn’t have sneaked out to be with you if I didn’t love you. I wouldn’t have shared my rations with you, I wouldn’t have covered for you, or missed you when you weren’t there if I didn’t care about you. Fuck Daze, all I wanted to do was be with you. We were best friends!"

"Then why did you choose her over me?"

"I didn’t." He answered in a softer voice.

"Yes, you did." You said as tears rolled down your face. "Finn, you got locked up for Raven."

Finn shook his head. "What was I supposed to do? Let her get floated? I would much rather be locked up for a few years than have Raven's death on me."

Oh. You didn’t realize Raven would have been floated? She never mentioned it on the ark. "I’m sorry, I understand you did it for someone you love. I was just angry I’d lost you, and I got jealous of how much you cared about her."

Finn pressed his forehead against your own. "I love you Daze, and for the record, I would have taken the blame for you. And I still do."

Finn pressed a soft kiss against your forehead, before kissing your nose. You looked up at him, lips parted slightly, knowing what you wanted. You wanted Finn to kiss you.

Cupping your cheeks, Finn leaned down and pressed his lips against yours. The feeling of electricity shot through your body. Finn reluctantly pulled back.

"I’m sorry, I should have asked first."

You wrapped your arms around his neck and tugged him down to you. The kiss was rougher, and more intense. Your lips only parted, so you could both catch your breath.

Finn had a look of hunger in his eyes, like a lion about to pounce on his prey. If you went any further, it would change your already fragile relationship. Maybe he didn’t want this? You were about to ask Finn what he was thinking when he kissed you again.

You pulled at his hair, deepening the kiss as you pushed Finn’s jacket off before throwing it across the room. Following your lead, he started to undress you. Pulling away from him, so he could lift your top over your head. Finn suddenly froze when you stopped down to your bra.

"Is something wrong?" You asked, confused.

He reached his hand out and held the object sitting above your bra. "You still wear it?"

You placed your own finger against the necklace. It was a small Daisy. Finn had made it out of metal and put it on a chain. It was a present for your twelfth birthday. "Yeah, I’ve never stopped."

Now Finn looked teary-eyed. "I really thought you hated me."

"I could never hate you. You’re my best friend." You said before leaning forward and kissing him again.

You quickly shimmed out of your jeans and underwear, as Finn did the same. He kissed your neck as one of his hands toyed with your bare breast. The coldness of his skin against yours caused goosebumps to appear. His other hand moved down your stomach and hips, stopping at the most sensitive area.

Finn kissed you once more before leaning back. "Are you sure you want this? It’s okay if you don’t."

You smiled at him. "I do. I want you, Finn. All of you."

With that, Finn began rubbing his thumb against your sensitive bundle of nerves, before inserting a finger. You let out a low moan as Finn started nipping and sucking at your neck. It would probably leave a mark, but you didn’t care. They would fade.

His lips brush against your ear. "Ready?"

You managed to moan out a ‘yes’ as Finn removed his fingers to line himself up. You gave him a reassuring nod. In one swift movement, he entered you.

At first, Finn was slow, then his thrust became faster as you found a rhythm. Moving his thumb across your sensitive area once more, you quickly found your release.

"Fuck." Finn’s movements began to become sloppier as he chased his own orgasm.

You hear Finn moaning your name as he comes, before rolling off you in a panting, swearing mess. He turned and looked at you, a smile spreading across his face, all of his earlier anger now gone. He pulls you closer, so your head is on his chest. "You are amazing, Daze."

"You’re not so bad yourself, Finnegan."

He chuckled at the nickname, his heart beating steadily against your ear. "I wish we could stay like this here."

You laughed at his comment. "We would drive each other crazy."

He squeezed you tighter. "I’m here. We will find something to keep us occupied."

You smiled at him. Feeling the tiredness taking over, you closed your eyes and fell asleep with Finn brushing your hair. Enjoying the rare moment of bliss.

Season one

#the 100 #the 100 fandom #the 100 fanfiction #finn collins #finn collins/oc #Finn Collins x oc #smut #Octavia Blake #Bellamy Blake #clarke griffin #slow romance #Slow burn #bellamy blake x oc #finn collins/reader #bellamy blake x reader #reader insert #jasper jordan #monty green

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starshipsofstarlord · 4 years

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Closeness in a Closet🔥 - Scott Reed x Reader

Summary: Whilst looking for evidence, you and Scott end up in a closet. It leaves the both of you time to mull over emotions as you wait to leave.

Someone had been leaving Clay polaroids. Disgusting ones, that did declare Bryce Walker a rapist, but that was what he was. They were evidence.

"You want me to what?" You asked Clay again, so that you could be sure you heard him right.

Ever since Hannah died, he was willing to go to extremes. No matter who got in the crossfire.

"Stay at school overnight, to see if anyone leaves a photo in my locker again." Why could he not do it?

You hated Liberty as it was, being locked in here when it was dark was not going to help. "You thought it was Reed, so why not just ask him?"

Scott Reed, the jock who hung out with Bryce Walker. He wasn't all bad, but he was a jock nonetheless.

Jocks carried a toxicity with them, wherever they went. Scott was no different. He couldn't be. He was a hormonal teenage boy like the rest of them, thinking with his dick rather than his brain.

"Of Bryce." You finished for him.

"I can't lose the chance of no more photos being left." Clay answered your question, his voice lowered so that this conversation was strictly between the two of you. People at liberty always stuck their noses in places they didn't belong, hence why Hannah was dead. "If it is him, he's scared."

It wasn't a surprise. The Walkers were a powerful family, using their wealth and reputation to bend the rules.

"Scared." You laughed. Sure Scott seemed different, but they were all the same. For all the two of you knew he was a rapist too.

It wasn't like Bryce just allowed goody two shoes' in the clubhouse. Even the mention of that place sent riddled shivers up your spine. "I'll do it, but only to prove you wrong."

If there was anything you loved more than watching the popular sports players getting their asses kicked, it was correcting Clay.

The boy always was so certain on things. But he wasn't right every time. It was impossible to be.

You walked with the boy to the cafeteria, finding Zach, whom you still held a little grudge on considering his previous group, Jessica whom was one of many of Bryce Walker's victims, and Alex, who was still recovering from his suicide attempt.

Everywhere you looked, you saw the effects of jocks. A few tables away, they were seated, laughing their asses off at something that was most likely crude and immature.

Monty clearly was the instigator of whatever joke that had just been made. The guy looked so proud and smug with himself. It was ridiculous.

But Scott wasn't joining in with the amusement. His mouth was upturned a little, but his gaze was wandering around the room, as if he was trying to avoid contact with any of them despite being seated at the same table.

And then his gaze met yours, whip made you whip your head away from facing that direction.

You couldn't have him being suspicious. You had to find out first if he really was the one lending a helping hand.

"Have you done the biology work?" Zach asked you. You weren't sure why he had began to be so interested in you. It was as if he wanted to help you.

"Of course." You smirked, stabbing your fork into the food.

Zach wasn't all bad. Maybe Scott wasn't either. But they still carried the bats on their backs, like scars in their skin. They would always be jocks, no matter how kind or sweet they were.

....

You hid in the girls locker room to avoid the janitors. When the coast was clear you exited, peeking at your phone to keep an eye on the time.

Clay hadn't messaged you. He must have been assuming that you were all good. But you weren't.

You were on edge. There was no one in sight, not that you'd have been able to see them anyway, it was dark. So dark.

As you walked in the hallway, you went into a janitors closet, which you had to pick with your hairpin.

It's not that you wore them, you merely carried them for the purpose of lockpicking alone. Seeing as you weren't all as lucky as Bryce, some of you had to bend the rules yourself to just get by.

And so you peeked through the window, that was fogged with dust, only to see a silhouette wandering in the vacant hall.

Who was it, and why were they coming towards where you were hidden? You could barely see their face, so it must've have been difficult for them to spot yours.

And then the door opened, revealing Scott.

"What the fuck are you doing?" You hissed at him, not sure whether you were asking about the intrusion or the pictures.

He made no attempt to answer just yet, instead he brushed past you, closing the door after he was fully in. "The same as you."

"Well, what do you think I'm doing?" He asked much more kindly than you did.

"I know (Y/N). I heard you and Clay, and I saw him drop one of the photos the other day. I want to know who's leaving a trail of them."

He couldn't be serious. He was the only suspect you had so far, and he was dismissing that it was him.

"Why? So you can secure them for your rapist friend, so that it doesn't go to court and drag the lot of you down?" Your finger prodded his chest, taunting the possible idea.

"I'm not a rapist." His statement seemed sincere. And it was you would've been able to tell if you could see the pain in his eyes.

"Okay." You weren't completely convinced.

"Okay?" He asked incredulously. "I want this all to end, the same as you do."

"Then why do you hang with Bryce and Monty? If they're around, this shit isn't going to have an end." You heaved, angry at the boy. You had been angry at him for so long, it was like you had forgotten who he was.

"Because I'm expected to. I know things and if I left, I'd have to pay a price. A painful one."

"Some friends." You remarked.

"I know that my contact with them is why you never called me back." He was no longer focused on the dirty window, instead his gaze was on you.

"It wasn't just you, so don't be so self centred." You had a life, one that you weren't proud of. But you were changing it all around. Maybe Scott was trying to do the same, but you couldn't be sure.

"I know." He gave you a small, almost guilty smile that was lit by no light. "And now you have to go to court. But you should know that the guys are keeping an eye on you. They're aware you know more about them than you're letting on."

"I saw things Scott. I heard things, and the clarity that they are what they are doesn't make any of it better." Your anger was no longer directed at him. It was instead targeted at yourself. "Monty persuaded me that you weren't interested, that you were just playing with me as if I was some discardable toy. And then he wanted to prove he could treat me better than you could."

Pursing your lips together, you couldn't help but feel ashamed. And to know Monty was still watching you made you want to vomit.

"He didn't -"

"No Scott." You dismissed his idea. "I consented. All that I had felt from the tapes, I needed to let go somehow."

"I'm gonna kill him either way." His teeth gritted together in irritance. He had never been a fan of Monty, but now he resented the guy.

"Don't, unless you want to go to court to." You shrugged your shoulders. Court. You had to go there, explain yourself and your behaviour towards a sweet girl who you had made give up. You should have helped, not the opposite.

"What Monty said, it wasn't real. I really liked you, and he just had to fuck with it."

"I really liked you too Reed." The past tense was in the air but something else made sparks shoot through the presence.

After you spoke, the two of you launched into each other, your lips mingling together, your hands in his hair, ruffling it and his own massaging your hips.

There wasn't anything else that needed to be said. It could all just be made clear with actions. With your bodies and the desire that had lingered in them.

His tongue pressed its way into your mouth, and yours danced with it. There was a sweetness to the passion, as though Monty had never got involved.

"I have to-" You tried to break away, although you didn't want to.

"You don't have to do anything you don't want to." He told you, going to pull away, but you pulled him back.

There was only a chance you would miss the anonymous suspect. So why not carry on?

Your thumb plucked at the zipped of his jeans, pulling down the metal ridges. He went to pull the denim down further, as you did the same with your own.

Both of your trousers were thrown to the floor, leaving you in your tops and undergarments. In an aroused haze, you removed your underwear and seated yourself onto the janitors trolley, that was pressed against the wall for stability.

Scott came between your legs, nudging his forehead against your own. "Tell me you want this."

He sought confirmation, and so you nodded but that wasn't enough for him. "I need to hear you say it."

"I wanted this since we first started seeing each other." The two of you had never gotten around to it due to the false rumours, but now was the moment.

His hands pushed down his boxers, and he allowed his tip to nudge at your entrance. He slid it into you, staying still for enough time to ensure you were comfortable.

You threw your head back at the sensation of the stretch. This wasn't how you had planned tonight, but you sure as hell weren't complaining.

And then he started moving, which had you stifling your noises. You had to be alert, in case the secret message came by. Even if you were to enthralled in pleasure currently.

"Fuck."

Fuck indeed. For you hadn't noticed the tall inconspicuous boy walking to Clay's locker, slipping in the polaroid and stalking away.

Zach should have known that someone would eventually start keeping watch, but from the whimpers coming through the door, you were clearly preoccupied.

"You feel so good." Scott rocked his hips before he let go inside of you, which made you unravel.

He gave a few more light thrusts before softly pulling out. "So what now?"

Scott scratched the back of his neck, before he helped you redress, and then doing so himself.

"Can I come to your hearing?" It made you Jump. It wasn't what you had been expecting.

"Scott, you said yourself that Bryce is keeping an eye on me. That's not a good idea."

He looked away, but you brought his face back towards yours with a stroke of your hand. "We should play it safe."

"I want to be there for you, because I wasn't with all that happened." He had watched you blame yourself but never comforted you. Now was his chance.

"Fine."

...

Clay stood waiting for you. "Did you see who it was?"

Shit. Why did that have to be the first thing that he asked you?

"No." You dragged the word out. "But it's not Scott."

"How do you know?"

That was something you didn't want to get into details to explain.

#scottreed #scott reed x reader #scott reed #13rw fanfiction #13rw #13rw x reader #13rw imagine #13rw smut #dirty imagine #imagine series #imagines #imagine #brandon butler #scott x reader #13rw cast #13 reasons why

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blodreina-noumou · 4 years

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What's your favorite underrated Murphy moment?

I can only pick one? Impossible! I’ll give you my top 3. In no particular order, because this man is underrated in countless ways!

1 - “Your plan was better, let’s go.”

In 4x01, Emori is scavenging and preparing to flee Polis in the aftermath of the City of Light fiasco. Murphy manages to convince her that they’ll be safe with Skaikru, which is a sweet scene on its own. But my favorite moment of his comes when we see him next.

Polis is tense, on the verge of breaking out into battle, and Skaikru is planning how they’ll keep the peace long enough for Roan to wake up and retake control. Murphy walks up to Bellamy, who’s standing with Indra and Kane. Murphy only needs to hear about thirty seconds of their plan - which includes Bellamy risking his life and offering Azgeda guns, to keep Echo occupied long enough for Abby to save Roan - before he realizes that his assumptions of safety among his people were wrong. Still he plays along for a few moments more, quietly accepts Bellamy’s gun, and goes to pretend to stand post. But in reality, he finds Emori again, and says:

“Remember what I said about being safe with my people? Yeah, your plan was better, let’s go.”

It’s a small moment, but it shows so much about what makes Murphy amazing. He’s a survivor, not because he’s “a cockroach,” but because he’s adaptable, charming, and resourceful. This scene shows that subtly but very clearly. He hears new information, gets his hands on a weapon, and changes his plans in the span of a single scene, without doing much more than staying quiet and assessing the situation - something most other characters in this show really struggle to do.

2 - “Do I get a gun now?”

In 2x03, Bellamy and Finn are leading a team in the woods to find Clarke - a team which includes Murphy, who is pretty fresh off his Total Douchebag phase of s1. Bellamy and Finn are including him in the search party out of a lack of options more than anything else, and Murphy himself is tagging along to avoid the scrutiny of Team Adult, who have recently touched down on Earth. Nobody trusts each other, and Bellamy is still treating Murphy as expendable.

Bellamy barks out orders to his squad, leaving Murphy without an assignment until the very end. Monroe asks what Murphy will do, causing him to quip: “Yeah, do I get a gun now?”

Bellamy snarks, “Something like that.”

The next we see of Murphy, he’s crouched at the base of a tree, tapping two stones together, looking anxious but determined. He manages to lead the Grounder they’ve targeted to a secluded spot, where Bellamy can knock him out.

At this point, although we’ve had the humanizing moment of Murphy telling Raven his story, as they both lay dying on the floor of the dropship, Murphy is still a not-yet-reformed antagonist. He hasn’t taken part in trying to save the girl on the cliff, yet, and we haven’t seen him in contrast to Finn’s later unhinged violence. He’s got a long way to go from “guy who peed on someone who asked for water” to “dashing hero who got the girl and also became a godking.”

Because of that, there are so many wonderful little moments that help transform him in s2, but this scene is one of my favorites. It’s one of the first times we get to see Murphy used as straight-up comic relief, which is something the show will go on to fully embrace about him in the later seasons.

But it’s also one of the first times the characters get to see that Murphy actually can be a team player, and that he will put himself on the line, given the proper circumstances. Murphy has the most reason out of any of them to be afraid of the Grounders, to want nothing to do with them, to protect himself above all else - he was tortured by them, brutally, then used as a biological weapon against his people by them, and then tortured again.

It would’ve been 100% his right to say, “No, go float yourself, I’m not facing these monsters without a gun.” But he’s brave, and far more heroic than he ever gets credit for, especially early on. This aspect of his personality only continues to develop and blossom over the next five seasons, and it’s beautiful to watch.

3 - “Tell me about Harper.”

4x13 is actually one of my all-time favorite episodes. I think it’s one of the few times this show has managed to expertly blend meaningful character moments with a compelling, exciting plot. We get to see so many sides of everyone, and the exchanges between Murphy and Monty are some of the best.

Monty (somewhat rightfully) distrusts and dislikes Murphy at this point, as the only real experience he’s had with him was when Murphy threatened to kill Jasper in early s1. Monty is freshly grieving Jasper, and it’s clear he resents Murphy’s presence. But Monty and Murphy must work together, if any of them stand a chance of surviving - including the two women they each love above anyone else, Harper and Emori, respectively.

The men are struggling to carry back a machine vital to their survival on The Ring. Monty has injured himself by removing his gloves in an effort to recover the machine, causing serious radiation burns on his hands, and he’s in a lot of pain. Despite Monty’s less-than-warm attitude towards him, Murphy does everything he can to support Monty and to distract him from his pain.

The entire exchange is worth rereading, if it’s been a moment for y’all (it had been, for me):

(After forcing his gloves back over his radiation-burned hands, Monty reaches to lift the machine.)

Murphy: Hey, no no no no no, not with your hands, okay? I’ll do it.

Monty: It’s too heavy to carry all the way by yourself. On three. One, two, three!

(They lift the machine together, and Monty screams in agony.)

Murphy: Who knew you were a secret badass?

(Murphy and Monty start carrying the machine together, over the uneven terrain, through the pouring black rain.

Monty screams in pain again. It’s clear each step is excruciating.)

Murphy: Hey hey hey, watch your step. It’s probably a bad idea to drop the thing that’s gonna save our lives, huh?

(Monty is starting to flag, his exhaustion apparent in his face. He keeps grunting and crying out in pain.)

Murphy: Okay, okay - focus on me. Tell me about Harper.

(Monty stares up at Murphy incredulously, swaying on the spot.)

Murphy: You guys seem pretty serious, you uh, tell her you love her yet? If not, I mean, today might be the day.

Monty: I’ve told her.

Murphy (smiles): It’s crazy how it changes you, isn’t it?

Monty then proceeds to pass out. Murphy begs him to stay conscious, but after a few moments, it’s clear that he’s on his own, and that Monty is in serious danger. Murphy has to make a choice, and he makes the right one - he lifts the incredibly heavy, lifesaving machine all on his own, and staggers back to the lab, leaving Monty behind. Fortunately, they’re able to save Monty later, and he says one of my favorite Monty lines:

“You chose the machine!? I may not hate you anymore.”

Monty and Murphy bonded here, over their love for the incredible women in their lives, and over the unfortunate and harsh reality that some things are worth dying for, worth being in pain for, worth sacrificing other people for. This scene shows so much - Murphy’s pragmatism, but also his romantic nature, his reliance on humor as a defense mechanism, and his willingness to do difficult things to survive. It’s peak John Murphy, way back in s4.

My love for him, which had been growing strong since s2, was fully sealed with this scene.

He has many more memorable moments, but this is long enough. Thanks so much for the question! It really helps me write meta when people ask specific things. And I’ve never had the chance to really talk about Murphy!

#asks #doortotomorrow #john murphy #the 100 meta #the 100 #memori #stephspeaks

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tiredmoonslut · 4 years

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Clarke Griffin + "The Lonely Road" *long post alert*

Clarke's story has always always always been about loneliness.

We start the series with Clarke having spent a year in solitary confinement. An entire year without any real contact with anyone. Her only comfort being her drawings. Canonically at this time, her best friend is Wells--who she can't stand the sight of because she thinks he's responsible for A) her father's death and B) her subsequent isolation. And sure, they fix things. Wells dies. There goes that.

Then there's Finn, and we know how that goes. After a year of being alone there's someone who thinks Clarke is smart, beautiful, special, perfect just as she is. Someone who wants her company and wants to listen to her and wants to spend time with her. Turns out Finn is cheating on Raven with her. Hmm, guess all that was a lie. Clarke isn't really friends with any of the other delinquents, she just feels for them because she's empathetic and not an asshole. Bellamy eventually becomes an ally and an equal and--ah, Clarke isn't alone anymore. There's someone on her level.

Wheels inside wheels, she loves Finn but won't forgive him for hurting her, Bellamy is her friend and that's a comfort--300 grounders burn to death and Clarke has no idea if the two people who made her feel less alone are dead with them. The Mountain Men come, she wakes up alone. The cycle begins again. Season Two is a bit of a void because Clarke is the most centered she's ever been--she has her people and she knows what she needs to do: Protect them at all costs. Bellamy is alive and on her side, Raven is her friend and trusted companion, her mom is on the ground--all is well. She kills Finn and betrays Raven. Nevermind. This decision Clarke makes alone, and is haunted by, alone.

Lexa helps. Clarke feels supported by an equal while Bellamy is gone. Feelings spark, hmm maybe this is an opportunity, Clarke doesn't have to be alone--except holy shit, Finn died like two days ago, I can't move on yet. Clarke chooses to remain alone because she thinks she needs to be. Lexa betrays her, and leaves her standing alone outside the Mountain--the cycle beginning anew with Clarke on her own AGAIN.

See where I'm going with this? She pulls the lever with Bellamy at her side and she realizes that maybe she truly doesn't deserve to be supported. She's a killer and she's ruthless and she should bear that so her people don't have to. She ignores Bellamy's pleas not to do this to herself and she walks into the forest, just another form of solitary confinement.

Rinse and repeat, Lexa is there, Clarke is falling in love, she's not alone anymore, Lexa is here and Lexa is her equal and Clarke loves--

Lexa's dead. Ad nauseam. Clarke's friends are estranged from her, they don't know her and they don't try to know her. She's just the leader who makes the hardest choices and disappears sometimes. They're not her friends, not how Clarke needs. She bears it so they don't have to, on and on. Praimfaya is imminent, rinse and repeat. Clarke is alone and worst of all she's horrifically lonely. Raven resents her and Bellamy does his best but he's just one person and he can't be there all the time. Roan understands her but they're not close, not like Bellamy and never like Lexa. Finally, the end of the lonely road is on the horizon: Clarke accepts death if it means her friends survive and they leave earth without her. Clarke is alone Clarke is alone Clarke is alone.

This time it really does break her. There's nothing left for her. But then there's Madi. Clarke hangs all her will to live on the presence of a child and uses motherhood as her balm for the aching emptiness she's nursed since Season 3. If she was estranged from her friends before, it reaches epic proportions after six years of being dead to them. She daydreams about them and draws them endlessly and tells Madi story after story because Clarke is so lonely and it's what keeps her going. "Talking" to Bellamy. Wondering about their lives on the ring. It's empty, it leads to nothing. The wheel spins on, Clarke betrays them all for the one person who's never left her.

Sanctum is the new Eden. Clean slate. Time to breathe. To heal. Clarke chooses not to be alone, this time. Clarke wants out of the cycle and she chooses it. The one time Clarke tried to break out of her loneliness, it killed her.

She survives death, of course. Wins against the Primes and does better in Monty's name only for her mother to die and Bellamy to vanish and Madi to have fresh new traumas and the new Eden to be in shambles. These people still don't know her, haven't tried to, but at least they don't actively hate her anymore. Gaia is there and Gaia is gentle, and kind. But where does that lead?

So here we are, at long last. The true end of the road is on its way. Clarke and Raven are healing what's been broken between them for years. Bellamy is dead and we see how it shatters her. So how does Clarke's story end? Will the unending loneliness finally cease? Will she realize that the only way out of the isolation that has been the core of her story is to choose self-love? Will she and Bellamy end up together at last? Will she finally be a true part of the families that have sprung up in her absence?

Clarke's story is about being lonely. I just hope it doesn't end that way too.

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emilianopavone · 4 years

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Self Para 003.

Though he questioned the choice as soon as he walked in the door, there were several explanations Emiliano could give for why he was going to church on a Thursday afternoon. The first was his mother, a reminder that if he was meant to be a practicing Catholic it might help to actually practice. The second was mere happenstance, a trip into town for business that made the pitstop convenient if not incredibly ironic. But the third, and perhaps most important reason, was Montgomery. He wasn’t sure why and he wasn’t sure when, but after the second sleepless night wrapped in the man’s arms, it was clear that his magic bullet for quieting his restless thoughts wasn’t so magic anymore.

Emil wasn’t worried about the lost sleep, a problem that had become as familiar as its many remedies, but he was worried about his ability to keep hiding it. Montgomery’s habit for noticing things he didn’t want him to was matched only by his penchant for worrying, so in the interest of heading off a host of questions he couldn’t answer honestly, he decided to take him up on his offer. He decided to talk to someone.

Father Rosario greeted him with patient silence from the other side of the thin black screen, a comforting lie of anonymity when Emil was certain he would recognize his voice as soon as he spoke. The symbolism, however, was not lost on him, and he had faith that if there was anyone in the city he could talk to without fear of repercussions — social, legal or otherwise — it was him. So he went through the motions of a ritual that held more meaning in its familiarity than its sanctity, crossing himself as he finally broke the silence.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been two and a half years since my last confession.” It felt like a bad start, but at least it was an honest one, and whether he was out of practice or still searching for the right words, he paused long enough for the priest to prompt him gently along.

“What is it that you came to confess?” There was a neutrality to Father Rosario’s tone that Emil wished he could pin down so he could better emulate it, wondering how long he had practiced before he could ask his parishioners to bear their souls to him as if they were truly free of judgement. He wondered if he or Monty would ever figure out how to do the same.

“Well, I haven’t dedicated as much of my time to God as I should.” Or at least as much as his mother thought he should, and not enough to count time passed since his last confession in months instead of years. “I haven’t always kept the Sabbath or come to Mass. I’ve given into temptation. Temptations,” he corrected, trying to keep anything coy out of his tone when it seemed contrary to the point, “Drinking...a lot. A little less than before, but probably still more than I’m supposed to. Smoking — no drugs though — just the smoking. And sex. A lot of that, too. It’s just with one person now, so I’m not sure if that makes it better.” Emil was fairly certain it didn’t, and he opted to leave out exactly what kind of sex he was having when it was nothing he would apologize for.

“Honor your mother...I could do better with that one. Coveting your neighbor’s possessions, too,” he continued, ticking his way through the commandments and wondering if it was better to list the ones he was following rather than each one he wasn’t. “I’ve been trying not to lie, but I’m not sure that’s the same as telling the truth.” He paused after the words, sincerity surfacing in the midst of a shallow list that made him wonder if that’s what this was. A list of Catholic sins that were all true, but not honest. Stalling more than confessing, and it wasn’t surprising to know Father Rosario had practice with that as well.

“Telling the truth is hard,” he started, neutral tone replaced with warm empathy, “Confession is hard. We have to be at peace with ourselves and the world doesn’t make that easy, does it? It is filled with distractions. Temptations. Things that draw us away from God and make us feel shame. But God is never ashamed of us, that’s what we have to remember. He never stops loving us. Only we can chose to turn away from that love when we let shame block out His light.”

Emil listened quietly, gaze resting on his hands and staying there in the still silence that followed, a long moment that felt like a deep breath. There was a slowness in churches, a disregard for the passage of time that he needed right now. So far removed from the sharp, quick wit of his conversations, of questions that demanded answers, and quiet moments that spoke for him in ways he didn’t want when he couldn’t find the right words fast enough. He appreciated having time that didn’t tick, taking a moment to slip off the plain silver ring that hid his thoughts, playing with it between his fingers like he might have a chance to see them now, too.

“I don’t know if I’m a good person.” Another pause, another breath. “I think I am sometimes. I try to be. But I feel like it’s harder for me than everyone else and I’m not sure what that says about me.” It was a confession he’d already made, less painful the second time he said it out loud, but he wasn’t sure what that said about him either. An ebbing fear or a growing numbness to it.

“It says you’re human,” Father Rosario replied, “We are made in His image, but we are not divine. We see His image in us and we glimpse that divinity when we choose to do good. It is the choosing that matters, and choosing can be hard, even painful.”

“See I did that. I chose to do a good thing. I chose to save someone’s life, but I...” Emil paused, rushing in his explanation but hesitating in his confession, the scalpel feeling so much deadlier when it was in his own hand, “But I had to do horrible things to do it. I had to lie, I had to steal, I had to break laws.” It was another laundry list of sins, worse this time, crimes that felt foolish to disclose yet still didn’t feel like enough, so he cut deeper. “I hurt people,” he admitted after another moment, swallowing hard and pushing deeper, “A lot of people...mostly good ones. Mostly friends.” Messages he thought he’d see again every time he opened his phone, Isa’s number long since blocked when he only remembered a string of pleas. I miss you. Can we Facetime? Can you call? I just want to hear your voice. When are you coming back?

Emil stopped twirling the ring between his fingers, staring at it frozen for a long moment. “I think I hurt the person I was trying to save the most.” It was a cut deep enough that he could feel it, a truth both obvious and overwhelming, and whatever came next in his list was gone. Not sure if it was an argument or an apology that he’d lost track, but he did his best to reclaim the train of thought. “I chose the right thing — the good thing — that’s what matters. So when does it feel like it? When do I see that glimpse of divinity?”

He had looked for it. Some sign that blood could be repaid in gold. In honey-hued drinks and sun-painted skin. He looked for it beside him every morning and every evening, proof in his presence, in the warmth that wrapped around him. But there wasn’t enough comfort in the soft breath on the back of his neck, and he couldn’t find credit in a heartbeat that said Montgomery was alive. Too much blame stitched between still fading scars he was realizing might never go away.

“God never asks us to turn to evil for the sake of good,” Father Rosario said after a moment of careful thought, “He will sometimes ask us to make great sacrifices, ones we may not think that we can survive, but we will.”

“But isn’t that what this is?” Emil interrupted, remembering he preferred an argument to an apology, “I gave up everything. I sacrificed my job, my relationships, my safety…” God he was going to die. He remembered it the way he always did, with a sudden terrifying intensity that he had to ignore before it paralyzed him. “I made the choice to do something good, the choice that screwed me over and ruined all of it. And I don’t get to complain. I don’t get pity or comfort or forgiveness because I gave that up too.” And you know why. He knew why he couldn’t be trusted, why he couldn’t be angry, why he’d lost every argument before it ever started, and why the only person he could talk to was sitting behind a partition. No sympathetic ear he could convince to see his pain as anything but self-induced, no friend who would pity him more than they hated him, and at least it hurt less to hear his justifications picked apart by a man who barely knew him.

“I gave up the chance to be the hero because being a hero wouldn’t have saved him. I made all the hard calls, I made all the sacrifices, and what do I get?” Emil tried to hold onto some shred of self-righteousness, but he felt it breaking apart as quickly as he built it up. Disgust replacing indignation as his anger turned back inward. A poison he couldn’t stop from spreading, and every time he tried it just got worse. I just want you to be okay too.

Father Rosario waited this time, letting the brief spark of resentment burn itself out before offering guidance both harsh and kind. “God does not pity sinners, and he does not comfort them,” he stated clearly, “But God does forgive them, and in that forgiveness you may find comfort.”

“How?” The blunt question was met by a pregnant pause, the priest cautiously picking through its ambiguity but as soon as he started to articulate an answer, Emil cut him off. “How is God’s forgiveness going to make this feel better? How is anything going to make this feel better?” His voice wavered, not from anger, but a desperate despair that was left in its wake, ring clenched in a fist that slowly tightened around it, searching for an anchor. “When I think about it for too long I can’t breathe. It is this...overwhelming weight and it is all-encompassing and suffocating and so I have to put it away. I have to ignore it or I can’t function. And sometimes it’s hours and sometimes it’s days but then I feel it again and it’s worse, it’s always worse. Because I put it away and I shouldn’t get to do that right?” The question broke on a single, sharp laugh, more hysterical than humorous. “I should have to feel it, I should have to feel this terrible, sickening guilt all the time, but I can’t. I can’t. So I put it away, and every time it comes back, it’s worse and worse and--” it feels like it’s going to kill me.

Emil stopped short, words caught in his throat when it didn’t feel fair to say them out loud. Irrational, selfish fears that he pushed back down with everything else that came boiling over. Nails digging into his palm and holding his breath until he could let it out more slowly, waiting for something better than his heartbeat to fill the dead air between them.

“Do you know why God forgives us?” Father Rosario asked eventually, shifting on the other side of the screen to face him more directly, as if he might better impart his guidance if he could catch his gaze through cross-hatched holes, “God does not forgive us because he believes what we did is not wrong or that we have served our penance with a couple of prayers and a priest’s blessing. He forgives us because he believes we can do better. He knows we can. His forgiveness does not right our wrongs, and sometimes we can’t either. But his forgiveness gives us the grace to move forward without judgement. To do better.”

“What if I don’t want God’s forgiveness,” Emil replied, words heavy and numb when he felt too spent to offer anything but cynicism. A humanist boyfriend who might be proud of his skepticism if it wasn’t so self destructive.

“Then why have you come here today?” Father Rosario waited a long time for an answer, a practice of patience and of faith, but eventually even he was forced to offer a different kind of patience when Emil remained motionless and silent on the other side of the screen. “He offers forgiveness to all those who seek it. When you are ready, He will be, too.”

Emil cracked a crooked smile, not sure if he found the promise funny or just tragically ironic, but he could recognize a polite farewell when he heard one. Slipping the ring back on his finger, and standing up to leave, he was stopped by Father Rosario. One last question he asked as his professional persona dropped for something more personal. “Emiliano, why don’t you want God’s forgiveness? Is it because you’re not ready to ask for it, or because you’re not ready to receive it?”

Somewhere between a lament and a plea, Emil thought it was the kind of question that would impress him in a game. Brilliant but brutal and cutting close to something important. But he missed by an inch, and so his answer came easily. “It’s because nothing worth anything was ever free.”

Before Father Rosario could refute the claim, the door shut, and the confessional booth was empty once again.

#c: montgomery

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averagejoesolomon · 4 years

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We are on Chapter Three of the Matthew Morgan PastGen fic! I was hoping to have a title for this by now, but my titling abilities are questionable at best, so here we are. You can start here and read the whole thing so far on AO3. Enjoy!

“We’ll race ya there.”

“Dream on.”

“What’s the matter, Morgan? Scared you’ll lose?”

“Ain’t scared I’ll lose. I know I’ll lose, and that’s an important distinction.”

“Yeah, we know. Why d’you think we’re offering a race?”

Fort Jackson is the kind of place where it’s easy to make friends, not as the result of want, but rather, as the result of proximity. There are 32 guys in Matt’s platoon and he spends his entire life eating, sleeping, breathing, sweating, and screaming with them. It’s high pressure. Dire risk. Friendship isn’t an effort under these conditions; it’s an inevitability.

He suspects it’s built this way on purpose. Basic Training just ain’t meant to be done alone. There’s too much yelling, too many push ups, and not nearly enough farm fresh food like his mama makes. Every day he wakes up, aching from the night before. Every night his head hits the pillow with delirious exhaustion. The only thing that gets him through it all, is knowing that there are 31 other guys doing the exact same thing. This place makes strangers feel like family.

So far, if he has a brother, it’s Monty. His hand lands on Matt’s shoulder, just the same as it does when he slides down from the top bunk every morning, or when they’re standing side-by-side in the chow line, or any other time they’re within a reachable distance of one another. He’s got that thickness to his voice that comes from the southernmost parts of Louisiana, but he’s light on his feet, and his smile melts like butter on a hot summer evening. “Ain’t no shame in losing, y’know.”

“No,” Matt allows, because he’s learned it about his bunkmate that it’s usually best to agree with him. Or, at the very least, quicker. “The shame comes after. When you and Fitz spend ten minutes ragging on me.”

Fitz is only a few steps ahead of them, but he spins at the accusation. His years as the only son of Texas’ most prominent state senator leaves a faint trace of diplomacy in his gestures, but Matt doesn’t dare say so, because Fitz hates his father almost as much as he hates morning drills. “I’m hurt,” he says, walking backward on his heels as the three of them trudge through the dewy grass. “Y’all really think I only have ten minutes of material?”

“He’s right,” says Monty. “We’ll be raggin’ on you for way longer than ten minutes.”

“And you still can’t figure out why I might not wanna race?”

Monty starts on a rebuttal, but he’s interrupted before he can get a full word out. Through the cool air of the early AM, they hear the familiar voice of a drill sergeant calling out to them. “Let’s move, Privates!”

All three of them answer with an identical, “Yes Drill Sergeant,” as they pick up the pace.

Fitz, facing the right way once again, lets out a bold laugh. It’s contagious, but Matt isn’t yet brave enough to laugh at an official order. “Doesn’t look like we get a choice.”

“I don’t see him movin’ much,” Monty grumbles. “Why don’t the drill sergeants ever gotta run nowhere?”

Matt’s words come out in huffs. “Dunno.” he says. “Maybe go ask him?”

The three of them grin. This whole thing is easier when he’s got folks to grin with.

The next stop in their carefully regimented morning schedule is just past the forested side of the chow hall where the mountaintops give way to valley and the sun peeks over the horizon. The very top of this particular hill is the home of everyone’s most resented obstacle course, not because it is any more difficult than the rest, but because they run through it far more frequently.

Fitz swears that it’s the most committed relationship he’s ever been in. Monty’s taken to calling the course “Fredo” on account of how it’s stupid as all get out, and how it’s always breaking his heart.

Matt, for his part, doesn’t mind the course so much as he minds the Drill Sergeants with stopwatches. Inclined walls and rope ladders, he can handle. Rope climbing and mud crawling. Hell, back home he used to swing from barn rafters, just to see if he could, but he never had to do it in less than fourteen minutes. He never felt his heart beat so hard, so fast, while at the same time, someone screamed that he wasn’t moving fast enough.

Fitz finds it funny. “Keep up, Morgan.”

Monty keeps at Matt’s pace, even though he could probably lead the pack. “Ay Fitz, save the sweet talkin’ for your mother.”

“How about I save it for yours instead?”

Matt again, with the huffing. “Ain’t no reason to go draggin’ our mamas into it, boys.”

It’s probably a bad sign that when they do finally reach the start of the obstacle course, Matt’s already trying to catch his breath. His lungs send up flames that lick at his throat and there’s a deep down sense of dread as he looks out across the dawn lit landscape. The shadows are soft and hazy, and they make everything look easier than it actually is.

He makes the mistake of thinking that it couldn’t possibly get any worse. Just as soon as the thought crosses his mind, a nearby drill sergeant calls out to the group. “Buddy up. I want to see groups of four.”

He looks to Fitz. He looks to Monty. Their exchange is one that needs no words, built on a single and mutual understanding: three. They only have three. No one has a stopwatch out yet, but Matt knows they’re being timed, because everything in this place is timed. Take too long, and you’re likely to get smoked.

Which is probably why Monty doesn’t hesitate. It’s probably why, without so much as a second thought, he turns to the guy next to him and links elbows. Three becomes four as Monty pulls the guy into their unofficial circle, with a smile that shines through a layer of delight.

The new guy isn’t smiling.

Instead, he pulls his arm from Monty, and it meets the other across his chest. This guy is all straight and strict and stern, exactly as you’d expect from a military man. If Matt didn’t know better, he’d probably label this one among the drill sergeants, and not the privates. “Touch me again,” he says, low. Steady. “And I promise it’ll be the last thing you ever do with your hands.”

Monty doesn’t take this as seriously as he probably should. “Very scary,” he says. “Fitz, you scared?”

“Absolutely trembling.”

The guy doesn’t get a chance to demonstrate just how scary he can be, which is probably for the better because something about him sends the color red flashing through Matt’s brain. For the first time since he’s arrived, Matt finds himself grateful for a drill sergeant’s order as the entire platoon is told to take a knee, and the situation defuses itself.

Last night’s rain soaks into his kneecap, the damp ground soft beneath him. At his front, a drill sergeant begins to give orders. And it’s true that he should probably be listening more intently to the instructions. It’s true that he probably shouldn’t tune out everything that comes after the word relay. There is a very good chance that he is going to regret this brief moment of distraction—and that this regret is eventually going to manifest in the form of many, many pushups—but he can’t quite help himself.

There are 32 guys in Matt’s platoon, and by now he’s friends with almost all of them. Almost. And he can’t help but wonder what kind of person doesn’t make friends in a place like this.

In the barely-there light of morning, Matt reads the name Ezekiel stitched above the boy’s pocket. It brings back years of bible study in a musky church basement, but there ain’t nothing biblical about this Ezekiel. He looks about two steps short of Purgatory and nowhere near the New Testament.

It is only upon further investigation that Matt recognizes Ezekiel. Something about the way he moves sparks something in Matt’s mind. They had been neighbors on that very first day at the barracks, each with a fallen duffle bag at their feet and a pair of drill sergeants down their necks. They had shared pushups and exchanged thank yous, and then Matt hadn’t heard anything more from him.

It almost startles him when Ezekiel starts talking, his voice quiet beneath that of the drill sergeant. “If you’re going to stare,” he says, “then you should at least move to my good side.”

Matt snaps his gaze forward, and now it’s an entirely new heat that rushes to his face. “Sorry,” he says, and his words come from the corner of his mouth, in a desperate attempt to avoid getting caught. “It’s just—that was you, right? That first day?”

“You mean when you purposefully dropped your bag and peeled two drill sergeants off of me?”

Where Matt comes from, there’s two things you don’t take from a man: his cows, and his pride. And Ezekiel doesn’t seem to have any cows handy. “I dunno what you’re—”

“Don’t lie after you’ve already been caught, Morgan,” he warns. Then he’s real quiet, as a suspicious drill sergeant passes them by. The two of them eye the pair of boots as they step, step, step along the ranks, until they are finally out of earshot once more. “Anyhow, I can appreciate it. It’s not often a guy takes a beating like that when he doesn’t have to.”

And Matt can’t help a little pride of his own. “Well, it ain’t too—”

“Don’t ever goddamn do it again, you hear me?”

“Right on.”

They all have orders to stand now, which he knows not because he was listening to instruction, but rather because everyone else has already beaten him to it. Monty’s there, like always, hand on Matt’s shoulder again. “All good, Morgan?”

His heart pounds in his ears, and there’s this feeling. He can’t quite place it. It starts at the back of his neck, then scatters through his shoulders, his sides, and eventually settles in his gut. It’s everywhere, and it starts with one more fleeting glance at Ezekiel.

But he shakes it loose. Joins his team at the start of the course. “All good.”

#Unnamed Past Gen #it's happening ladies #its picking up #were gonna get going real soon here

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sometimesrosy · 5 years

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6.04 The Face Behind The Glass Rewatch

I am doing a rewatch of The 100 s6 and I am enjoying it.

I’ve chosen not to do a liveblog because they take twice as long and are kind of a lot of work, and I just want to enjoy the show. So, since I’m done with my ghostwriting deadline and everyone’s on lockdown over here for self isolation, I’m enjoying the show.

I do want to make note of how, this time around, a lot of my emotional energy goes into telling Russell and Simone how FREAKING EVIL THEY ARE.

in 6.3 they were being so mean to Clarke at that dinner, accusing her of destroying the earth, but in reality it was probably Russell and Simone and their friends who destroyed the earth (since Eligius=Becca=ALIE=apocalypse=Second Dawn probably. Plus they hate Diyoza like it’s personal and she was fighting the nightmare that was to come and lost.)

Now in 6.4 The way they played with the interpersonal relationships? Jordan and Delilah. Which to be honest, we haven’t seen come to fruition yet, because it leads to Jordan’s problems in s7, a little reminiscent of Jasper and Maya.

Then Raven and Clarke, which was CLEARLY them setting up the princess mechanic antagonism and Raven’s resentment and soon to be understanding of redemption AND impossible choices because we know she’s going to have to make them soon. But it also sets up how Clarke is feeling on the outside. She DID go to Raven first on her forgiveness list. Raven takes it as some sort of offense. I guess she’s not ready to forgive. She’s still grieving Shaw, and that was what set her off. She said she keeps saying she’s sorry and then does the same thing (which she doesn’t really, but Raven is angry.) She accused Clarke of being a monster like Octavia, and that the only difference was that she PRETENDED to be sorry. Knowing where we’re going, that’s interesting, because right after this she meets Ryker and gets to have fun with motorcycles, which she equated to a lover (interesting) but later on, we’ll know that he does not support the primes stealing the hosts bodies, but he’s not going to stop taking them. Which is what she accused Clarke of. She’s also going to make an impossible choice of her own, helping Abby take a body for Kane, and then helping Kane take that mindrive with him into death. So, while that scene showed us how princess mechanic are at odds, and made the fans fight clarke vs spacekru again, it’s actually setting up Raven’s character arc for the season, using the conflict with Clarke as the frame for her moral journey. Right? So in the end, it’s no longer an impossible choice for her, as she ditches the pragmatic choice of opening the shield for the RIGHT choice of saving Madi from sheidheda.

oh ok i didn’t think I had so much to say, but there we are.

Next interpersonal relationship is Bellarke.

This isn’t as new and interesting, because we’ve examined those scenes very closely. I just liked the way Bellamy was upset, yes about Octavia, but also, clearly, about. Monty and Harper, and probably also the fight he had with Echo about Octavia, and he didn’t want to do the damn amends. But Clarke persevered as she did with Raven, which failed so spectacularly. Only, it doesn’t fail with Bellamy, First he understands because she was protecting her child and he has done the same, but then she’s like, no that’s not it. You’re my family too and I forgot that, but I won’t forget that again because you’re too important to me. AND THEN, all his resistance crumbles, although she’s still frightened and he hugs her and lets out this BIG sigh like the weight of the world has been removed from his shoulders. Then the next time we see them, Clarke is dancing with Cilllian and Bellamy is watching. And jealous which takes form as anger at Echo.

Leading to the B/E scenes. intercut with Clarke/Cillian scenes. Which is. Well. Interesting to say the least. First there’s Bellamy being an absolute dick to Echo. The jealousy clear. Then we see Clarke and Cillian getting intimate, and then betraying her and we end with Clarke paralyzed and Cillian committing suicide Back to B/E and he comes to find her and apologizes to her as she tells him about how her father and mother died. “I thought you didn’t remember your parents,” he says which means she never told him a THING about her childhood. I also noticed that he said Echo had changed since coming to the ground, that she wasn’t so cold up on the ring. He thought it was the fighting again, and that’s when she said she was fighting her whole life.. which leads me to believe that she still felt like she was fighting on the ring, just maybe a different kind of fight, a fight to belong? to hide who she was? idk. maybe we’ll find out next season. But Bellamy feels sad for her past and tender again towards her and they are intimate and soft where he tells her to forget the past and focus on the future.

And Then IMMEDIATELY cut to Clarke, paralyzed, with Russell and SImone talking about bringing Josephine back, and all the skeletons fo the hosts and primes. Which is SO TWISTED. Bellamy trying to leave the past behind and the primes trying to drag it into the present by killing Clarke.

Well. Ok. You can’t get over the past by ignoring it. This is a truth that I think the characters dealt with in season 6. The past comes back. Raven’s mom. Echo’s history. Murphy’s sins. The old man. Octavia’s monsters. Clarke’s guilt and sins. And Bellamy’s love for Clarke. oh.

We don’t bring them back like the primes, or like Abby did, refusing to let go or let die, but by FACING our own actions and making amends and making peace and making changes and learning. The way out is the way through.

BUT, then I was still spending an awful lot of time on Russell and Simone and how FREAKING EVIL they are.

Being willing to murder an innocent girl rather than have to wait 50 years for another host to be born. Imagine if they had just gone the Abby route. And never murdered Clarke because they were selfish. They would still be evil, but they would have survived without their narcissism and greed. But I guess that’s part of what allowed them to treat people like cattle, or consider themselves DIVINE.

Bitches. We know you’re not divine. You just have some fancy tech in your head and a man desperate to bring his love back.

Ugh, the way Russell was so kind to Clarke as she was paralyzed and crying, asking her to not cry, telling her that it was a GIFT she was giving them. That’s not a gift. That’s a THEFT. And that she was making a beautiful SACRIFICE. That’s not a sacrifice that’s a MURDER. And that she could stop fighting and be in a better place, like he was giving her what she wanted by taking her life.

GOD I HATE THE LIGHTBOURNES.

If only Josephine weren’t so charming in her psychopathy.

@linzzmorgan100 @wolfheartgirl @braindeadkat @kattitudereads @beholdmysparkle @elspethelfgordie @theatre-steph @franklyineedcoffee @iishallbelieve

#the 100 #rewatch #liveblog #not really but i'm keeping it that way for my notes #the tags aren't working very well

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queen-swagzilla · 4 years

Text

Ruthlessly Alive - Chapter 10

Rated: M

Summary: Everything is going wrong. Clarke is at her wits end and so is her co-leader, Nathan Miller. The two of them and their mini-council—Wells, Raven, Finn, Monty, Jasper, and Syl—keep trying to find solutions, but nothing is helping them stay alive. When the dropship carrying her mother crashes, they come to a decision. They have to surrender, and ask for help.It just so happens that the price for help is Unity. But it means something much different on the ground than on the Ark.

Chapter summary: Raven's got some misplaced anger. Bellamy's got a stab wound. Clarke's got paper and charcoal. Syl's got grounder braids. Miller has very little patience for bullshit.

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Bellamy remained under Clarke and Diggs' watchful eyes for two days. After he’d woken up, Irene had pulled Clarke aside and tied the red ribbon around her wrist.

“But I didn’t finish the ritual.” Clarke objected.

“Didn’t you?” She asked. “At the very least, you’ve proven that you have the ability to care for him. The rest of your people, however, I am beginning to distrust.”

Clarke looked away. She couldn’t exactly fault her for that. She had trouble imagining Finn poisoning a knife, especially since peace was a real possibility. Unfortunately, she didn’t really see who else it could be.

They’d searched the Art Supply Store, to no avail. It was devoid of any poisons or suspicious substances. Finn had come back the next day saying he’d gone exploring, and they’d no reason to hold him prisoner except for their collective suspicion. That simply wasn’t enough.

“Raven?” Clarke had asked, flanked by Miller and Syl. Raven narrowed her eyes. She wasn’t exactly pleased that Finn had been detained upon his return. It felt too much like the first time he’d been arrested. “I need a favor.”

“Yes, your majesty?”

Clarke winced but plowed forward. “Look, I’m not sure if Finn did anything. I can’t find anything to indicate that he did, but he’s the most vocal opponent to the terms of our alliance. We need this, and you know it. I need you to keep an eye on him and tell someone—not necessarily me—if he starts to act suspiciously. If it was him and he does it again, he won’t just be imprisoned, he’ll get all of us killed.”

It left a bitter taste in Raven’s mouth to know that Clarke was right. That she was just doing her best with the information she had. Why couldn’t she be wrong and unreasonable so that Raven could resent her for just a minute? “Fine. Is that all?”

Clarke looked saddened (and it killed Raven that it bothered her) but nodded and turned, leaving the tent with Syl in tow. Miller stayed behind. “She is going to be queen, you know. That means making tough decisions and giving orders that we'll have to follow.”

“Do you have a point?”

“You can’t hold it against her like that. She hates the idea already. She doesn’t want any of this to be happening, and you know it. Sure, she’s pretty into her fiancé, but the idea of being queen gets to her. Don’t make it worse by throwing it in her face when she makes a decision you don’t like. We’re under a monarchy now. There are always going to be decisions we don’t like. What matters is that we trust our leaders to ultimately make a decision that benefits us, and that’s all she’s been doing since we landed. She made the right call, and you know it.”

Raven glared at Miller. “My relationship with Clarke is none of your business. I agreed to watch him, didn’t I?”

“That’s not the point, and you know it.” He snapped. “She needs you, Raven. Stop taking your frustration out on her and refocus it on the person who actually deserves it.”

He didn’t wait for her to reply, pushing out of the tent to go looking for Clarke. Raven tamped down the urge to go after him and blow up in his face. Because god damn it, he had a point. Unfortunately, she didn’t really have the time to sit and think. Today was the day they’d begin taking the Dropship to scrap.

Without power tools.

Anyone who wasn’t working with Raven and Monty on the Dropship or in Medical with Clarke fixing their inevitable injuries was directed to Octavia and Lincoln for training. Syl had found herself directly under Octavia’s thumb, struggling through seemingly endless pushups.

While everyone seemed to be occupied, Murphy stood guard over Bellamy in his tent. He’d complained for hours when both Clarke and Diggs had insisted he remain on bed rest and outright whined when Octavia had demanded that he be guarded until he was up and about. Now, though, he found himself grateful for the quiet. A drawback of being King was that he was constantly swarmed—truly quiet moments were few and far between.

“Have you sent word to the Commander yet?” Murphy asked.

Bellamy shot him an annoyed look. “Of course I have.” He grunted.

“Has she said anything back? She could refuse to acknowledge it, couldn’t she? Turn us out of the coalition?”

Bellamy grimaced. “She could, but she won’t. She’d risk losing her hold on Trigedakru.” He replied, wincing. “Turning us out means putting them at risk of fighting a war on our border for territory. Sure, the rest of the coalition could come to their aid, but Azgeda would opt to sit it out. Emboldened by Azgeda’s refusal, the rest would refuse to put their warriors at risk for a border dispute, and the coalition would unravel. She won’t risk that.”

Murphy eyed him thoughtfully. “How long have you had that figured out?”

“Since Sterling first told us about their situation.” He admitted. “I knew this was a possibility. I wasn’t going to take this on without considering the risks.”

Murphy smiled wryly. “Yet you had no qualms about letting a stranger stab and poison you. Look where that got you.”

“I was in good hands.” He defended both himself and Clarke. “It could have been much worse.”

“Yes, it’s a good thing she likes you.” Murphy teased. “Or she’d have let you die.” There was a note of caution in Murphy’s voice. Bellamy frowned at him.

“Not with her people at risk, and definitely not with you and Octavia watching over her shoulder.”

Murphy raised an eyebrow. “If she thought it was right, Clarke would slit your throat without even blinking. Apparently she was seen doing the same for one of her people caught in the Fog.”

“Then it would have been out of mercy.”

“You think that calculated ability to kill doesn’t extend to her sense of justice? To her need to protect her people? Don’t be naive, Bellamy. She’s a good person, but you can smell it on her. The moment she needs to be, she’ll be ruthless. You had better hope that she’ll be on your side when that day comes, too.”

Bellamy barely even blinked. “She will be. I won’t give her a reason not to be. You know I don’t do things by halves, Murph. Her people and my people will be the same.”

“And what are you going to do when they discover who actually poisoned you?” He demanded.

Bellamy paused. His instinct, of course, was to have them executed. Not only for treason but also for violating a sacred rite and the grounds of a peace treaty. That, however, would not be in her people’s best interest. There were so few of them, and she’d feel each loss keenly. “I would leave their punishment to her.” He decided. “Our treaty is still in its fledgling stages, and they aren’t required to follow our laws. It’s encouraged, but they’re still separate. Until they officially join Trishanakru, we’ll allow them to govern themselves.”

“They poisoned you. The offense was against you, so your laws should govern the punishment.”

“Not if we want them to trust us.”

“They won’t trust us if you allow them to flout our laws without punishment. They’ll just do it again. There has to be some form of punishment from us. Maybe you can negotiate the punishment with Clarke and her advisors. Find a punishment that you’ll both deliver.”

Bellamy had to admit, that did sound better. “I can do that.” He agreed. He laid back docilely, and Murphy regarded him with a healthy amount of suspicion.

“That felt too easy.”

“Maybe you’re paranoid.”

Murphy snorted. “Yeah, maybe."

Things seemed to settle into a busy but peaceful rhythm. For three whole days, they took the Dropship apart, got drilled by Octavia and Lincoln, and started workshopping ideas with Wells, Monty, and Syl. Bellamy was recovering under Diggs’ (and sometimes Clarke’s) watch, and Clarke had taken over all diplomatic duties with Murphy whispering instructions in her ear at Bellamy’s request. So far, they had been visited by a representative from Yujledakru and Louwoda Kliron Kru, who were both staying in camps just outside the gate. She’d accepted their gifts—tokens to celebrate their impending marriage—and fed them. Then, she’d introduced them to the camp’s leaders and asked if they had concerns.

So far, the trust she seemed to have fostered in Bellamy, Octavia, and Murphy was enough to keep them calm. She was immensely grateful for that.

Syl seemed to be taking to Grounder culture like gas to a fire. Someone had clearly been teaching her the language because even with Murphy translating, she seemed to be getting the gist of each conversation.

Someone had done her hair, too. Every morning, Syl arrived at their status meeting with intricate braids that pulled her hair back from her face to unveil her sharp cheekbones and glittering black eyes. Clarke was a little jealous.

Raven, on the other hand, seemed to be shrinking from it. On that end, Clarke was concerned. At first, Raven had been more than ready to learn and grow into Grounder culture, but since the ritual, her enthusiasm seemed to have petered off. Not to mention, she was sour at Clarke, furious that she’d implicated Finn without hard evidence.

“What’s eating you, Princess?” Syl asked, sliding up to Clarke with Miller in tow.

“Nothing.”

Miller rolled his eyes. “So you’re glaring at Mbege for no reason?”

She realized that she had, indeed, been glaring at Mbege, who now looked extremely skittish—eyes darting from the task before him to Clarke and back in rapid succession. She offered him a sheepish smile and he seemed to deflate with relief. “Oops.”

“So? What’s the matter?” Syl prodded. She was fiddling with something—a bullet, Clarke realized—as she spoke.

“I’m so jammed up with meeting people and being a good host that I’m not learning anything.” She muttered. “I want to learn the language, you know? I just don’t really have the time.”

“You’ll have plenty of time to learn the language after all this diplomatic crap is over.” Miller replied soothingly.

“I know.” She sighed. “It just feels like everything is moving so fast. We only have three weeks left to get everything ready, and finish the courtship rituals. I haven’t even had time to get started on my gift for Bellamy.”

Syl gave her a once over. “Well, what are you doing right now?”

“Right now?” Clarke asked, frowning. “Nothing. Basically just waiting for someone to hurt themselves.”

“Well,” she drawled. “Why don’t you get started on it now?” Clarke flushed. Octavia had gotten her paper and charcoal the same day she’d asked for it, and Lincoln had offered to show her how to bind a book when she was ready.

“I can do that.” She admitted. Syl chuckled, taking her by the arm and guiding her back to her tent, Miller trailing behind him.

“You need to stop waiting for bad things to happen. Trust me, if they’re happening, they’ll find you. You gotta live in the meantime.” Syl insisted. Miller grunted his agreement. “We’re at peace. Your only duties right now are diplomacy and medical. If you’re not being sought out, you can take time to make your extra-special engagement gift, or train, or learn the language.”

“I need to make sure—“

“Then we’ll give you status reports, Clarke.” Miller interrupted her, successfully predicting her train of thought. “Syl’s right. You don’t need to be everywhere at once. Focus on what you need to get done or want to learn. Whatever. We’ll step up. I am your co-leader, remember? At least for the time being, I can keep the ship running while you plan out your engagement and wedding crap. And hey, learning the language is important for diplomacy right? You have a good reason to makethat a priority. You can get Grounder Jr. here to help you out.”

Clarke blinked at him. It might have been the most Miller had said at one time in ten years. “Are…you frustrated with me?” She demanded. He raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “Why?”

“Because I’m pretty sure one of the conditions for me being okay with this alliance was that you’d take care of yourself. Trying to manage everything in camp and your own marriage is not taking care of yourself, it’s burning yourself out.” He scolded. She never thought she’d see the day when Miller scolded her.

“I’m just trying to make sure this goes smoothly! Survival is the very foundation of my self-care!”

“No, Clarkey. You’re trying to micromanage a hundred juvenile delinquents even though your survival is guaranteed as long as you stick to the terms of the alliance. And you have at least six people who are willing to lend you a hand.” Syl reminded her, a little exasperated but mostly amused. “I promise we’ll come to get you if there’s an emergency, but we’re more than capable of handling the nitty-gritty. That’s what we’re here for.”

“Yeah, didn’t you say we were your advisors or something? Isn’t that what our literal jobs are now?” Miller grunted. “Your job is to keep it together and lead us. Our job is to help you do that. Let us help you and take a fucking chill pill, Griffin."

They were in Clarke’s tent now and away from prying eyes, she allowed herself overflow a little. The affection and gratitude she felt couldn’t really be contained, but she doubted Miller would forgive her for going soft on him in public. So here, in the tent, she threw her arms around his neck in a nearly vicious hug.

“You guys are adorable.” Clarke dropped Miller immediately and whirled to face whoever had just entered the tent. It was just Wells and Monty (it was Wells who’d spoken, but Monty was snickering), but Miller flushed anyways.

“Did something happen?” Clarke asked, immediately on alert despite the conversation they’d just had. Syl flicked her on the forehead.

Wells eyed them oddly, noting the disciplinary action but taking it in stride. “No. We just wanted to let you know that the Dropship interior is completely stripped. We’re going to work on cataloging and packing it before we start working on the actual structure.”

“We got together with Octavia and agreed that the core group of scientists should hold off on training until the dropship is done. That way they’ll have the energy to actually do the work.” Monty added.

“The hunting party is back, too. They’ve got three deer and pulled in a bunch of rabbits and squirrels from snares. They think it’s a good idea to dry and store two of the deer and use the rest fresh over the next couple of days. They wanted your opinion, though. Well, they wanted Murphy’s opinion, but they’re kinda afraid of him, so they want Syl to ask him.”

Miller gave her a smug smirk, and she rolled her eyes. “See?”

“Fine. Okay? Fine! You were right. I’ll ‘chill out’.”

Syl snorted. “Yeah, unlikely. Just…don't preemptively panic. Do what you gotta do, and trust us to keep you in the loop. We’ve got this, Princess.”

They left Clarke in the tent, pulling out the piles of paper and charcoal she’d been given along with the copy of the Iliad that Octavia had gotten for her. She assumed it was Bellamy’s copy, so she handled it like it was made of glass.

Before she knew it, she was completely lost in her task—relaxing into the lines and shading as she brought the ancient story back to life. The last time she’d had uninterrupted time to draw was when she was in the Sky Box, and it was relaxing then, too. It took her mind off the endless vacuum of space. Here, it took her mind all of the things that could go wrong, and she was grateful for the time to decompress.

Soon, her hands were covered in coal and her body was completely unclenched. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed, just that she had a tidy stack of perfect drawings and it was getting dark inside the tent. “Clarke? You coming for dinner?” Jasper poked his head through the tent flap. “Syl wanted to get you for lunch, but Miller and Wells didn’t want to break your stride if you actually managed to chill out enough to stay put.”

She blinked up at him, only now realizing how late it was and how long she’d been sitting in one place. “I’ve been in here all day. I’ve been in here all day?! I need to check on Bellamy! Were there any injuries in camp?”

“Hey! Hey, relax. You can check on Bellamy after dinner. He’s been sleeping all day, and Diggs has been taking care of him, along with all the other minor scrapes that have come in. We need to learn to trust them, right? It’s good that we’ve been having our people go to him. It’s actually kinda important.” Jasper reminded her, alarmed at how quickly she’d panicked. “We didn’t just let you have the day. If we’d needed you, we’d have gotten you.”

“Right. Right, sorry. I’m just…”

“Not used to being fine? I know the feeling. Spear, remember?” He chuckled. “C’mon. Come have dinner with us then go check on your boooooyyyfriend.” He teased. She threw the charcoal stub at him, and it smacked him in the cheek.

“You’re terrible.” She muttered. “I’ll join you in a minute, I just need to go wash my hands.”

“Roger that, boss. We’ll save you some stew.” He grinned, saluting her jauntily.

As she walked through the camp, she was pleased with how little disarray there was. If she’d left camp for a whole day when they’d first landed, there would be broken fingers and collapsed structures in every direction. Now there were some murmurs as friends prodded each other’s blisters or scrapes, but it looked like everything was running smoothly.

Probably because they had a collective goal with a big fat scary deadline.

But hey, no matter the reason, as long as no one was dying or pissing off Grounder diplomats, she wasn’t going to complain.

Miller and Wells had come to him that morning to tell him that Clarke would be out of medical on other projects all day, and he couldn’t lie—he was disappointed. If he was bedridden, he was at least hoping for company other than Murphy (who hated talking, even to people he liked) and Diggs (who always had some gross new observation about the human body to share).

There were a few other delinquents who stopped by for their own cuts and bruises, and they talked while Diggs patched them up. He was quite fond of Harper, who talked his ear off about how limited his appreciation for classic literature was if he was stuck in ancient Greek epics. “Maybe someday,” she said wistfully. “We’ll find a way to reconnect to the Ark mainframe and be able to download the library.” He quite liked the sound of that.

Miller came to keep him company for a while and asked about politics and war on the ground. He seemed pleased that Bellamy was fascinated by history and therefore could give detailed accounts of the clan wars that had taken place before the coalition, as well as the skirmishes that had taken place since.

Other than that, he’d been bored. His philosophy had always been “if there’s nothing to do today, sleep while you have the time”, so he’d essentially napped his way through the entire day and felt lethargic as hell when he woke.

Murphy shoved a bowl at him when he opened his eyes. “Eat.” He grunted.

“Everything going alright out there?” He asked as he complied.

“Everything’s fine.” Murphy dismissed him. “Actually, without you and Clarke breathing down our necks, I think this has been their most productive day yet.” He continued, unsheathing his knife to clean under his fingernails.

“I heard that.” Clarke declared, sliding into the dropship with her hands on her hips. “And that is yet to be determined. I’m getting status reports after I check on Bellamy.” She paused. “Wow. They really did strip it bare.”

Anything that they didn’t need for immediate medical procedures had been disassembled and stacked in a corner—seating and seatbelts, wiring, and the video components had all been scrapped.

“I think we were both hoping it would take longer so that Bellamy would have someone to talk to all day.” Murphy drawled.

Clarke frowned. “Weren’t you here all day?”

Bellamy snorted. “Yes, ten hours with the surliest bastard south of Azgeda.” He shot Murphy a fond smile. “I slept most of the day.”

She chuckled. “Well, I hope it was restful.” She was leaning over him now, unwinding his bandage to examine his stab wound. She was pleased that it wasn’t infected and already seemed to be knitting together. “How are you feeling?

“Hmm. Like I was poisoned by someone other than my wife and put on bed rest.” He replied. “But better than I felt during the ceremony. I’ll feel better once I can get up and move.”

“Well, I’d feel more comfortable if you relaxed for a couple more days, but we treated you quickly and you do seem okay aside from the stab wound. Just don’t push it. Besides, we don’t know who poisoned the knife, so even if you’re not on bed rest I’d feel better if you had Murphy or Octavia with you.”

He groaned.

“See? Clarke agrees with us. Now you have to listen.” Murphy cried. “He doesn’t think he needs protection once he’s healed enough to move around.”

She frowned at him. “I know you’re an impressive fighter, but there’s no harm in having a second set of eyes. You’re being targeted. There’s no need to tempt fate. Besides, you’re a king. What would happen to your people if you just let yourself get assassinated?” She prodded him in the chest. “Be responsible, Bellamy.”

“Our people have a line of succession. We’d prefer not to use it, but still. It's your people you should worry about. There’s no guarantee a new alliance could be reached if Bellamy died.” Murphy reminded her.

She glared at him. “Yes, obviously, I know that. I just figured that was obvious. It’s obvious, right? We’re screwed without you. Besides, I’m getting pretty attached to you. I’d be very upset if you died because you decided to throw logic out the window."

He grumbled, but his pout told her that she’d won the argument. Sensing that Bellamy’s sulking wasn’t going to be short-lived, Murphy decided to sweeten the pot. “Maybe if you spent…half the day in here tomorrow keeping him company, he’d be a little more ready to follow your instructions.” He suggested.

Clarke couldn’t find anything wrong with that plan, so she agreed. “Maybe while we’re in here you can teach me some Trigedasleng.” She smiled, sitting by the cot and taking his hand. “Syl’s a natural. I need to keep up or she’ll never let me live it down.”

“Miller and Wells are, too.” Murphy supplied, unhelpfully. “They just don’t talk as much, so you haven’t noticed.”

“See?” She whined, tugging his fingers petulantly. “They’ll tease me forever if I don’t learn faster.”

He smiled at her mischievously. “Can’t say I blame them. I have a feeling I’ll have fun riling you up in the future.”

“Only if there is a future.” She scolded. “So for the love of God, please don’t get murdered.”

“Alright, princess.” He chuckled. “I’ll be careful.”

Raven was waiting for her in her tent when she returned and immediately she was on edge. Then she was sad that she was on edge because it was Raven. “I’m sorry, did you need something? I didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”

“Oh, no,” Raven assured her, standing. “I uh…well. I finished a few radios. I know you’re working on your gift for Bellamy, so I made enough for you, me, Wells, and Miller. I’ll have a couple more soon, but this way you can get status reports without having to run around.” She explained, holding out Clarke’s radio to her.

“Thanks, Raven.” She smiled, taking the scrappy tech. Raven didn’t really have a poker face, and she was grateful for that. Right now, her tone was soft and sincere, and her body language was open—if a little skittish. “Really, I appreciate it. I know you were going to make them anyway, but it’ll be nice to know what’s going on without having to drop what I’m doing.”

“I wasn’t going to make them yet.” She admitted. “I made a few when Monty told me what you were up to today. I realized you hadn’t started yet because you didn’t want to miss anything. This way you won’t have to.” She rubbed at the back of her neck. “Look, I’m not happy about the Finn thing.”

Clarke sighed, shoulders drooping. “I know. I’m sorry. It’s hard to imagine it’s him, and I don’t know if I think it is, but we have to—“

“Be sure. I know. You’re doing the right thing here. I don’t like it, but I can’t really deny that it’s what needs to happen. Besides, blaming you isn’t going to get us anywhere, you didn’t poison Bellamy, and it’s not like you’re locking him up before you’ve proved him guilty.” She admitted. “It just stings. He’s always been the person I trusted the most, and now he’s taking stances I don’t agree with and there are people I trust more than him. It’s all new.”

Clarke stayed quiet. She couldn’t imagine how Raven felt, so there was nothing she could really say to make it better. She could listen, though. She was good at that.

“I know what happened between you two before I landed. I don’t blame you, so don’t even.” She held up a hand when Clarke (predictably) opened her mouth to apologize. “He seems to feel like he has a hand in your decisions just because you’ve slept together, and that’s really stupid, but I don’t know if it’s the kind of stupid that would lead to him poisoning a warlord during a sacred engagement ceremony. That seems beyond him. I don’t think it would even occur to him. So while I’m not ruling it out, I am begging you to keep an open mind on this. He’s more likely to ruin this by opening his fat mouth to the wrong people.”

Clarke had to admit, she had a point there. “You’re probably right.” She agreed. Raven looked a little startled by the admission, but her eyes focused in like a laser. “At the time, he was the only person that we noticed was missing, and he’s been the most vocal opponent to the terms of the alliance. That’s why I wanted to look at him first, not because I thought that he’d definitely done it. I just wanted to be sure.”

“And the verdict?”

She grimaced. “Still not sure, but it’s not xi. That’s why I wanted you to watch him. No one would know if he’s acting out of character better than you.” She shrugged. “Aside from that, I would rather focus on keeping Bellamy safe than watching potential suspects. I don’t want it to be one of us. Granted, I don’t know who else it could be, but it would be a nightmare if it was one of us.”

Raven nodded but looked horribly guilty. “I’m really sorry.” She said quietly. “About how I’ve been acting for the past few days? I get tunnel vision when it comes to Finn, sometimes. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. I know you’re just trying to do what’s best.”

“Hey, it’s fine. I’m new to this leading thing. You wouldn’t be one of my advisors if you weren’t comfortable pointing out where I’m going wrong.” Clarke assured her.

“That’s my point. You didn’t do anything wrong. I just let my emotions get in the way.” Raven insisted. “And I can’t promise I won’t do it again, so if I’m going to be one of your advisors, you need to tell me when I’m lacking perspective. This is all hard enough, we don’t need to make it worse by not communicating. That means you can’t just take it on the chin. We’re putting a lot on your shoulders here, so if you want us to count on you, you can’t set yourself on fire just to keep us warm.”

Clarke smiled self-deprecatingly. “That’s not the first time I’ve gotten that lecture today.”

“Good. Because I’m apologizing here, but this is also a serious teachable moment. You totally let me slam you with that ‘your majesty’ comment earlier. I know you’re not super into a monarchy, but damn Clarke, you’re about to be a queen. The correct response to my statement would have been ‘if you don’t want to follow my orders, find a new fucking clan.’ I would have been pissy for a few more hours, but it’s not like I’m gonna leave. Jesus.”

Clarke raised her eyebrows. “I would literally never say that.”

“Then I’ll have to follow you around and say it for you.” She snarked. “Because those puppy-dog eyes were lame. We’re a warrior nation now, not a warm-fuzzy cuddle puddle.” She stepped up to give Clarke a quick hug before heading for the tent flap. “Now go to bed! Your eye-bags look like they could hold ten days’ rations.”

Her jaw dropped, affronted. “They do not! You take that back!"

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2 notes · View notes

lingeringscars · 4 years

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i find it really neat that for as compassionate and kind that harper is, she is incredibly blunt. she doesn’t mince her words, nor does she try and hide how she feels about certain actions around diplomacy. she’s going to say how she feels, but also what she thinks you need to hear. she’s very supportive !! but it isn’t blind support at all. she’ll call you out if she thinks she needs to while lending an ear. she’s realistic in her support, which means she sometimes slips into realism when optimism is needed ( telling monty that she’ll be here if he gets back and then needing to correct it to when, for instance ).

post space, she can still have her moments of being tactless, but they’re more cushioned than they were pre-space. while being a source of support for Monty when he questions his purpose on the ground, she still begins the let’s show them how to live statement with “everyone dies.” she herself almost did, so that’s something she knows to be definitive. No matter what they do, people are going to die, and she’s sick of the constant state of survival too !! she’s not as vocal as monty is, but she is tired of constantly being in a state of war, especially after being at war with herself for so long.

when emori is doubting herself and her abilities, it again starts very blunt “stop beating yourself up” while bellamy would most likely say something along the lines of you’ll get it / you’ll figure it out, harper takes a more reasonable and rational approach but saying it was her first time on the controls and she should forgive herself. Then to make her point about emori giving herself empathy, she connects it back to Murphy too. by saying “maybe he deserves a second chance, too,” she’s stating that emori deserves it, as well as saying that maybe she’s being too harsh on Murphy. she’s very good at knowing what people need to hear even if they aren’t necessarily ready to hear it.

she can use that ability in a lot of ways though. it’s harsh but she does use this empathy against monty in the end of season 4. he isn’t listening to her, cannot accept that she wants to stop fighting ( and of course he can’t !! of course he’s blinded in these moments and can’t allow himself to leave without fighting for her and jasper !! he’s already lost everyone and his family is choosing to die ), and when monty appeals to that, she knows there’s really only one way to get him to leave. she knows he won’t give up on the people he loves, and she truly believes that if she said it back in that moment, he wouldn’t save himself. monty wanted to live but she didn’t, and he couldn’t accept that, so she was cruel. it was a last ditch attempt to get him to leave her and save himself, it was an act of love in of itself, but if she had stayed alive for him, that wouldn’t have been healthy and she would have resented him for it. she needed to come to that decision herself, and he wasn’t letting her.

everything she says after the i don’t love you is the truth. she just truly believes that if she told him she loved him, he would never leave. so she lied because she thought it would save him. but she hates that those were going to be her last words to him, she couldn’t let them be a lie, so she continues and drives home her point that he isn’t enough for her to live and he can’t be.

her understanding of people is vital to her character, but it doesn’t always come out in kind and compassionate ways !!

#i just think she's really really neat !!!!!#it's also a nice contrast to bellamy who says things that he 100% believes but cannot guarantee / promise #she's more realistic in her approach while giving a similar level of unconditional support ( within reason. she has no problem speaking out #and she's very good w/ even tho i love u i do not support these actions and will tell you so #and i just love her a lot #muse: harper mcintyre #this became a m/arper meta in a lot of ways but those are just the best examples that i could think of #and the one w/ emori where she's basically ily be kinder to yourself and also murphy thanks #suicide tw #suicidal ideation tw

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ponyregrets · 5 years

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for the friends-to-lovers prompts, i found this in a text post i once reblogged: "we drunk-kissed but you forgot about it and i don’t know how to act around you anymore wtf". hope you have a nice day !!!

I combined this with another prompt (a tweet about a teacher with a birthday message on his forehead) from @allstandsilver

AO3!

Bellamy's first mistake is assuming that he's safe because his twenty-eighth birthday is on a Monday.

He doesn't make any plans, obviously. Celebrating the weekend before always feels kind of like cheating, but he invited people out for drinks on Friday, which he assumed was sufficient. It wasn't like he was ignoring his birthday.

When he gets home from work, Clarke isn't there, which isn't particularly surprising, but she has left a cupcake with a single candle on the kitchen counter, and a card that says, Happy birthday! See you in a couple hours, I hope. It's a fairly typical Clarke message, one that would have pissed him off, once upon a time. He moved in with her because the rent was cheap and the apartment was nice, and Clarke was friends with Monty, who is his friend who is least likely to tell him to move in with someone who is secretly awful as a joke.

And Clarke really isn't awful. The biggest issue was that she's rich and her parents own her very nice condo, and Bellamy was surly and vaguely resentful about the way she didn't have to work like a normal person and could still take care of herself. He might have been benefiting from her wealth, but that didn't make him like her.

Luckily, Clarke could do that all on her own. Within about a month, their bickering had moved from barbed to affectionate, and as he got to know her, he started to realize how hard Clarke did work, albeit with weird hours and less compensation than most people would need to survive. She wasn't an idle rich person, she was a rich person who took advantage of being well off to do what she wanted. It sucked that he couldn't do the same, but that's not really Clarke's fault. She works part-time for Planned Parenthood and volunteers at various museums and goes to parties her mother has just to argue with rich assholes, and on the side, she does art.

Now that he likes her, he's glad she's got the life she wants. She deserves it.

Right now, she's probably in her studio, so he texts Do you want me to make dinner for you or are you good? and goes to find a beer. He's going to have a couple drinks, not do any grading, and play video games, and when Clarke gets home, she'll probably hang out with him. It's a pretty good birthday plan, as far as he's concerned.

When the door opens half an hour into this plan, he calls, "Hey, welcome back!" and doesn't think anything of Clarke's not responding until the blindfold goes on.

"Happy birthday, dickweed," says Murphy, and shoves at shot into his hand.

"We love you," Miller adds.

"If you really loved me, you'd let me stay home and play Stardew Valley."

Miller takes one of his arms and Murphy takes the other and they pull him up and out of the apartment. He doesn't resist that much--they're probably not going to kill him on purpose, and if they got into the apartment, Clarke is at least involved, and she won't let them kill him by accident--but he makes sure there's enough resistance that they know he's not thrilled about this turn of events.

When he gets into the car, he gets another shot, and then Clarke says, "Your safe word is banana cream pie."

"Really?" he asks, downing the shot. It does actually taste like banana cream pie, which is kind of terrifying. "Is my safe word supposed to be dirty? That seems counter-productive."

"Is banana cream pie dirty?"

"It sounds like a euphemism for something. Come on, that's some sexual imagery."

"It might have been too long since you've gotten laid. Are you planning to figure out what sex act banana cream pie could refer to and then ask me to do it?"

"I'm definitely planning to do the first part." The second's not unappealing either, but he knows better than to fuck his roommate, especially his roommate he has a crush on. That's a recipe for disaster.

"Me too," Clarke admits. "But if you need to get out of this at any time, tell me banana cream pie and I'll bail you out."

"And you'll be a pathetic asshole," says Murphy. Then he squeaks, so Bellamy assumes Clarke kicked him.

"She'd only agree to this if we gave you an out," says Miller.

"This is why she's my favorite."

"Uh huh."

She's also his favorite because she ignores Miller. "So, do you need to get out?" she asks.

If he was a little better at letting friends down and/or self-preservation, he'd just say the safe word, and he and Clarke would get out of the car and have the low-key evening he'd been planning. That would definitely be the right choice. But they went to so much trouble, and he's kind of curious, and he's going to get to hang out with Clarke either way, so--

"I need another shot," he says, and everyone cheers.

Bellamy's alarm is set to go off every weekday at five-thirty, which is good because he wouldn't have remembered to set it and bad because his fucking phone is going off and he's definitely going to die. His mouth tastes like old leather, his whole body aches, and he thinks he banged his elbow on something, but he has no idea what or when or how.

"Happy birthday to me," he mutters, and staggers into the shower.

He stays in there for longer than usual, letting the hot water ease the various aches and pains in his muscles, but despite that, when he gets out of the shower, he still sees that BIRTHDAY BOY is written on his forehead in bright red sharpie, apparently unaffected by the steady stream of water trying to wash it off.

The calculations happen as quickly as they can, given how slowly his brain is moving. He spent a long time in the shower, and he's been dragging his feet every step of the way on top of that, so he doesn't have a lot of time to spare. He could try to scrub the marker off and be late, or he could just let it slide. His first-period class is APUSH, and while they're obviously assholes, they're the kind of assholes who will have fun with the teacher coming in with something weird written on his forehead. And then he's got second period free and he can deal with the problem then. That should be enough time.

It's not the best solution. But it's the best one he's got.

He gets dressed, gets packed, and makes sure he's completely ready to go before he pushes Clarke's door open and shakes her awake.

"What?" she asks, muzzy.

She's good at falling back to sleep, so he doesn't feel that bad for saying, "Hey, quick question."

She sits up, rubbing sleep out of her eyes. "Yeah."

"Is there writing anywhere else on my body?"

It doesn't seem to be the question she was expecting. "What?"

"I've got this," he says, pointing to his forehead. "Anywhere else? I don't want to find out from a student."

"Yeah, I guess you wouldn't." She finds her glasses on the bedside table and examines him, with a small frown. "I think you're good, as long as you keep wearing exactly that amount of clothing."

"Cool. Sorry I woke you up."

"I probably deserved it." She wets her lips. "That's it?"

"Yeah. Have a good day, get more sleep, I hate you."

"Yeah, yeah. I know."

In Bellamy's experience, high-school kids think they're much slicker than they are. Which, to be fair, is true of a lot of people. But it's clear even to his alcohol-fogged brain that his APUSH class is laughing at him and they think he hasn't noticed, which is kind of pathetic. That is a level of failure to deceive that is truly epic.

"Okay," he says, once he's done with his lecture. No one has said a single word about the message on his forehead, and that is impressive. They're passing notes about it, but the class collectively understands that this is a rare and beautiful moment that must be protected at all costs. "Before we break into groups, any questions?"

Fox's hand shoots up, and he points at her. "How old are you, Mr. Blake?"

There's some giggling, and someone hisses, be cool in what they clearly think is a whisper. He can't tell who it is, though, so that's something.

"Uh, I just turned twenty-eight."

Apparently it wasn't the answer they were expecting; the news sets off another round of frantic whispering.

"I'm going to regret asking this, but did you guys think I was younger or older?"

"I thought you were, like, twenty-four, tops," says Sterling. "Maybe just out of college."

"Thanks, I think. Is any of this relevant to the exercise we're doing?"

"You asked," Sterling shoots back, which is true.

"I did, thanks for letting me know. Any relevant questions?"

"Did you do anything fun last night?" asks Jordan, and he makes a show of rolling his eyes. He's Monty's little brother, and Miller has a huge crush on Monty, so Jordan might actually have insider information on Bellamy's private life. It's something he tries not to think about.

"I don't know, did you? Get to work, Green."

The period ends with none of the students having told him about the writing on his forehead, which is the kind of thing that feels like it deserves a reward. He had expected someone to tell him, and the fact that no one did is genuinely impressive. They did a really good job.

Me: Do you think I can leave this message on my forehead until a student tells me it's there?

Clarke: I think you can do whatever you wantThat's your question?

Me: My first period class didn't say anything about itI want to see how long they can go

Clarke: They're going to counter-bet how long it'll be before you notice

Me: So everyone will have an exciting dayHow's your hangover?

Clarke: I don't get hangovers, I'm not an amateurDid you have fun?

Me: I think soMy memories are basically a fight scene filmed by Peter Jackson with a strobe light, so it's hard to be sure

Clarke: Ouch

Me: Did I ever use my safe word?

Clarke: NoIt seemed like you were having fun

Me: I'm pretty sure I wasThanks for helping to set it up

Clarke: [thumb's up emoji]

By fourth period, his day has completely turned around. His students have all entered into some kind of blood pact about not telling him that he has something written on his forehead, and three of his coworkers have come over to tell him privately, which means he can get them in on the whole thing. The students are convinced he just hasn't looked in the mirror since whenever the message was left, and there's some sort of pool to see who can find out who wrote it, which is doomed to failure. Unless someone confesses, the mystery of who wrote on his forehead will probably remain unsolved.

Still, it's nice to see the students banding together to keep a secret from him. Anything that gets the kids united is good in his book.

Madi Taylor from his sixth-period freshmen is the one who finally tells him, quiet and a little hesitant, after a homework question, when no one is around. She's clearly aware it's a betrayal, but she is one of his favorite students. He can't be mad she's on his side.

"You've got something on your forehead," is her way of putting it, which is pretty cute.

"Yeah, I know."

Her eyes widen. "Who told you?"

"Madi, how many mornings do you not look in the mirror before you go to school?"

"I heard you came right from the party."

"I don't know how anyone would know that, but I didn't." He smiles. "Don't tell them, I know you guys are having fun."

She looks dubious. "Aren't you going to get in trouble? Like, with the principal or something?"

"Not if everyone's cool."

Once she's gone, he texts Clarke someone finally cracked and then tries very hard to not think about when she'll respond, but that's an uphill battle. Because he always texts Clarke throughout the day, and she's been weird today. Off. Her replies feel terse, irritated and she could be distracted, but it feels like he fucked up something he doesn't even know about.

It's not even his fault, she was the one giving him endless shots. And she's the one who remembers what happened. He can't fix issues he doesn't know about.

Me: Did I do something to Clarke last night?

Miller: Dude, I'm not setting you up for this

Me: Setting me up for what?

Miller: Some shitty dad joke about how laid you got

He drops the phone and it clatters across the floor, startling his last-period class as they work on their quiz. It doesn't get close enough for anyone to pick it up, but Ethan does ask, "Did you finally see your reflection?"

"Eyes on your papers, it's just a phone," he says, grabbing it. "Two more minutes."

Me: Your shots got me blackout drunk and Clarke is mad at meTalk

Miller doesn't respond before the quiz ends, so Bellamy has to actually be a teacher instead of checking his phone, which is a fucking nightmare. Teaching is his passion, but finding out what happened last night and if he ruined his entire life hitting on Clarke or something would be nice too. That's the kind of data it's important to have.

"And yes, I have known about the writing on my face for the whole day," he tells them, wrapping up his lecture a minute before the bell. "But I'm proud of you guys for not telling me and assuming I don't know what mirrors are. Read the next chapter for tomorrow and be ready to talk about what you want to do for your projects."

He makes himself wait until all the kids are gone before he finally checks his phone, makes himself go to the top of the texts before he starts reading.

Miller: ShitUmOkI wasn't paying a ton of attentionFlirting with Monty etcBut I know you and Clarke were joined at the hipWhich is pretty standardBut you were drunk and touchy-feelyAnd later on I saw you guys full-on making outAnd then you told me you were leaving with this huge shit eating grin on your faceI figured you guys had sloppy drunk sex and I'd never hear the end of it

Me: Fuck I hope we didn'tIf I had sex with Clarke and FORGOTFuckThanks

Miller: Just remember, it takes twoYou weren't the only one grinning and slobberingJust talk to her

Me: I'm tryingThanks for the update

Miller: Let me know how it goesThe G-rated version

It's hard for Bellamy to believe there's going to be any version aside from the G-rated one, but he honestly understand why Miller thinks it's a good sign. If he was Clarke and he'd spent last night making out with her, only for her to spend the whole day texting him about some stupid shit, he'd probably be pretty upset. And if he thought that making out was a mistake, he probably wouldn't be snippy about it. He'd be relieved that she didn't know it had happened.

Or maybe he wouldn't. Even if he made out with someone he hated, he'd probably be annoyed if they just forgot. No matter how he felt about the person, he'd like to be memorable.

But really, there's only one way to find out why she's mad at him; there was only ever one way. They're just going to have to talk.

Me: Do you need dinner?

Clarke: At the studioBut thanks

Clarke's studio is a few blocks from their apartment, so he stops by on his way home from work all the time. If she'd said that on an ordinary night, he would probably stop by, so he can do it tonight too. It's not weird. Or at least, it shouldn't be. Everything is covered with a thin film of weirdness right now, but he'll break through it. He has to.

He's still mildly hungover and doesn't feel like cooking anyway, so he picks up some Chinese on his way. He can hear Clarke's angry playlist blaring as soon as he gets off the elevator, which isn't the best sign, but it's not like waiting will make it better. Not with unspoken grudges festering between them.

Not with his lips tingling with the knowledge that he kissed her and no fucking idea what it felt like.

"Clarke!" he calls, rapping on the door. "Open up, you need to eat!"

The music cuts off and the door swings open. Clarke is paint-splattered and wild, and he wants to kiss her now, fucking wants to kiss her all the time. It's not new, but it does seem more urgent.

"Did we make out last night?" he blurts out, and Clarke slumps against the wall.

"You remembered?"

"No," he admits. "I asked Miller why you were pissed at me and he said the last time he saw us, we were making out."

She wets her lips, not meeting his eyes. "I didn't think you were that drunk. I didn't know you--I'm really sorry. I shouldn't have--"

It makes sense all at once, even if it kind of breaks his heart. She thinks she took advantage of him and she's annoyed with herself for doing it. It's perfectly, totally understandable.

"Clarke, you didn't do anything wrong."

Her eyes flash. "How do you know? You don't know what happened."

"Did we kiss?"

"Yeah."

"Did we do anything else? After we got home."

"No. Just at the party. But you were way too drunk to--"

"You were pretty drunk too." He swallows, steps closer. "What happened? Why did we?"

"Because I wanted to!" she snaps. "Because I've been wanting to kiss you since you moved in and I thought you wanted to too and I--"

Interrupting someone with a kiss is, in Bellamy's experience, easier said than done. It happens all the time in movies and books, but it's hard to coordinate in real life, not nearly as fluid or smooth as he wants it to be. It should be a cool moment, but it takes a second to slot into place, Clarke's jaw under his fingers, her lips under his mouth.

But then she whimpers, tugs him close, kisses back, and it is familiar. They've done this before. They're good at this.

"I can't believe I forgot about this," he says. "Jesus, I didn't think it was possible for me to be so drunk I'd lose this."

Her smile is sheepish. "I did give you a lot of shots."

"Probably not just you. I'm pretty sure I drank my weight in birthday shots." He swallows. "So, uh--are we good?"

"Are we going to do that again?"

"I'm in love with you," he says. "So--yeah. As much as possible."

She laughs, winds her arms around his neck and kisses him again. "Wash your forehead off," she says. "Then we're good."

He had actually completely forgotten about the writing on his forehead; he hadn't had time to wash it off, with everything else happening, but it also didn't seem very important. "Do you know who wrote it?"

"No. But that's why I kissed you."

"Seriously?"

"I was just looking for an excuse."

"I'm glad you got one. Maybe I should keep it."

She pushes him away gently, still smiling. "Nope. Get cleaned up and we can have dinner."

He grins back. "It's a date."

#smallvoids

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