#sure its so easy to spew hatred and make everyone feel bad but like. why would you WANT to spend your life making people feel awful?? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

umbillicalnoose · 5 years

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i think that you would think im pretty and would like my poetry and i want to share it with you. im shy.

to be honest, im very apathetic these days. im not the nice “cutesy baby flower petal boy” i used to be. a lot has happened & im bitter & sullen & all in all, a pretty shitty friend/person to know. i used to possess some redeeming qualities, believe it or not, even if they were construed by the subconscious in an attempt to be likeable - a facade, even tho its only a facade, is still tangible, still there, is still something, even if not authentic. is poorer character forgivable in the name of presenting more authentically? but nah. that makes it sound like im putting effort into being a better person, which im not. im just sort of fried & done. its been a very long time since i played the role i built for myself on here of the “small fawn boy who wants to help girls” lmaooo. how embarrassing. altho, i was just a kid, & i guess, if you had a tumblr as a teenager, you went thru some cringe (i know the use of that word has fallen in on itself & adopted its own definition but for lack of a better one) ass phases, whether it was kinning or malingering mental illness or oh fucking christ, all that gender bullshit, etc etc. from what ive observed, tho, loosely following kids im still casually friends with that i met on here, i think we’ve all managed to Grow The Fuck Up, at least a little. most of us have jobs or r in school or have partners - growing up & moving on is a very surreal experience to watch/go thru. im moving at my own pace & ive accepted that - im still currently using & starving myself & concocting a suicide plan every day but at least i use clean needles as much as possible, i actively & honestly do strive for the bare minimum calorically, & um able to work with the mentality of “well ill have this when i need it but todays not that day” a lot more readily, in relation to suicide shit. ive finally found a therapist who Really Gets It, is a frontrunner internationally on ritual & extreme abuse & mind control. its pretty incredible what a few years with a good therapist can do. anyways. im sorry, i know you didnt ask for all this & im not even sure why i divulged. i guess, what tipped me off, was your attempt at sounsing “cute” - dude, cut that shit out, i promise youll be a lot better off. & i know everyone interchanges aspects of their personality based on who theyre talking to/who they percieve themselves to be talking to, but i feel like not a lot of people give enough credence to the internet & its hand in shaping/molding young people, kids, vulnerable dumbasses, especially tumblr (tho, i get that its a relatively new phenomenon) - u get a bunch of the “weird”, “alternative”, ““ostracized” kids together on a website, of course its gonna nurture a culture of hypervalidatoon & pretending to be sick in order to fit in to the point that its not an act anymore & exacerbation of symptoms & basically, just sucking each others dicks, sitting in ur own shit, & never ending coddling. & then, you have the older group of kids, who have played this game before but instead of helping or ignoring the Dumbshit kids, they indulge their own normally-buried-but-unleashed-by-internet-anonymity sadism/human instinct to just be fucking dicks & so now you have this vicious cycle of anger & hatred & fucking melodrama up the urethra. im sorry, i know im comig off as/am being harsh but god fuckin dammit yknow? also, this isnt directed at you, specifically, more of a generalized thing, @ myself included. so uh. i mean, if u still wanna share it with me after reading all this, id be happy to read ur poetry. i used to be over the top nice & then reverted to Major Asshole & am now trying to find that sweet middle spot - honoring & allowing myself to share my pain without putting it on others. which is really hard!! cuz becoming a Dick was difficult in that it forced me to be more honest with my true self & as such, more vulnerable - now in trying to become Kinda Nice again because despite being a pulsating scrotom, ive had the intense desire for friendship & human interaction, while simultaneously doing things that i was consciously aware was pushing others away - but then, if i pretend to be nice, where does that authenticity i worked for & was so scared of go? & i dont mean telling someone their new haircut looks nice even when it doesnt - thats just not being a dick. but i guess, those r the normal trials & tribulations of any relationship & adolescent developing identity. which is weird too - dealing with “normal” issues, i mean. whats the point if your life/limbs/breaking point arent at risk? whats the point when your best friends already dead. im sick of people calling "survivors” (despise that word, so fucking female-originated & overdramatic) “brave” & “strong” - surviving is not brave or strong. its just survival. you wouldnt call an animal brave for running for its life from a predator but you would call a dog courageous for going into a burning building to save its owner. premeditated action on the notion that you are probably going to be hurt is brave. being subjected to pain with no choice is not. theres no “silver lining” or anything “good” to be drawn from it either - sure it may have made x a more compassionate person or made y more introspective & gentle but you know what would have been even fucking better??? if the shit hadnt happened in the first place! let x be an asshole & y be self absorbed - the “benefits”, so to speak, do not outweigh the cost, not by a long fucking shot. its not only patronizing to hear garbage like that, but a slap in the face to know that anyone could possibly see anything good coming from that nightmare & that the characteristics, good or bad, you developed either in response to or as a result of, are worth praise. dont tell me im strong for doing what i had to to escape a torture chamber - tell me im perseverant for studying my ass off & passing that test last week. in the words of one of my dearest & most fucking brilliant friends, “pain doesnt owe me/you purpose - the need to intellectualize & assign meaning to pain & death is not only futile, but harmful.” & honestly, i think that it stems from weakness (in most cases - i realize theres a plethora of other reasons such as those who r just desperate for something to hold on to or r hyperintellectual & analytical or who have been pressured by external “support” systems to find the “good” etc etc) - while the majority of people view the person who “can find the good in everything” (strictly speaking only in relation to trauma/tragedy here & more in denunciation of those that celebrate this trait as opposed to vilifying “survivors” who respond this way, though in my experience, its very very very rarely the “survivor” that perpetrates this ideology ) as strong, i sort of see it as a weakness - their inability to sit with & absorb their own pain or that of others is so strong that not only do they have to frantically pull rainbows out of the teeth of a meat cleaver, they also have to exist within this strange (tho, not malicious - more subconscious) superiority complex. like, nah, dude, some times shit is just awful. you cant tell me anything fucking good came out of a four year old girl being kidnapped, gangraped, & tortured for two years, before being impaled & left to die on a stake. her mom opened a non profit organization? oh well thank fucking god for that!!! those that believe the latter to be more “enlightened” or whatever the fuck r the same people who say shit like “dying is easy - living is harder” & i get that that its supposed to be interpreted metaphorically for the most part - giving up is easy, trying isnt (which also.....isnt true??? admitting defeat & fully accepting the fact that ur fucking helpless is beyond hard lmao???) - but pretend youre somewhere, anywhere outside ur sunny little fucking yoga studio full of white women whos biggest issues r the pta & johnny whos failing math, & lets say your life is in real, imminent danger, a gun is to your head & i want you to not scream or cry or beg for ur life since dying is “easier”. if dying is so easy, why do the majority of ppl cling to it with such desperation - why is suicide illegal? why do some ppl go thru 100s of chemo treatments even tho the doctors say theyre just prolonging the inevitable, ppl who cut off a diseased arm so it wont spread, those who walk dozens of miles every day for food & water, etc? & i know & understand the survival instinct better than anyone, even when i wanted to die more than anything, my natural instincts would kick in with no conscious neural input & id do what i had to do. im not condemning those who cling to life (ok - a little. ur wasting resources out of ur own fear. but i also realize thats just me being a Fucking Asshole As Always cuz technically, im doing the same thing tho its more due to lack of opportunity rather than fear. i just think, societally, death should be more normalized, discussed, & not made out to be so unknown & scary), instead just reprimanding those who say shit like that (inspirational facebook quotes). especially cuz most of the ppl who do spew that shit have never gone thru anything even remotely difficult - their worst nightmare is a Big Scary Black Man grabbing them on the street, mugging them, & touching their tits. & i also know that these stupid ass sayings are to be applied to bullshit like exercise & fitness (“no pain no gain” is another one of my Favorites) & not fucking torture or even just ur run of the mill rape, even that would probably smash the rose tinted banana republic shades off their beverly hills tanned faces. but ive heard the no pain no gain one a handful of times in the last few weeks, specifically from doctors performing procedures in preparation for my bottom surgery. & i know its supposed to be encouraging & they have no way of knowing, but its just like, buddy, u have no idea who youre fucking talking to. & im starting to understand what THEY mean when they say it - pain with a reward is infinitely more tolerable than pain just for the sake of pain; like, a tattoo, it hurts, but u know, when its done, its gonna be sick as fuck. when u r able to fall back on the idea that its for something u rlly want, its A Lot easier to handle as opposed to pain thats Just Pain - theres no reward for it except, i guess, that the more u experience it, the closer u r to the end of it lmao. i mean, i still hate when ppl say it cuz for most of my life, pain was just pain, & the “reward” was the opportunity to go home at the end & so whenever ppl say that, my mind just immediately resorts back to that & im just like haha fuck u. but im trying to remember my experiences r definitely not universal & im starting to sorta understand what they mean i think. but, flipping gears here, & going back to the sentiment of “everything happens for a reason”, the base philosophy of psuedo deep Fuckwads - a girls dad didnt fuck her “for a reason”, everything doesnt happen “for a reason”. like ok, hypothetically, the kid he impregnated her with & that she was forced to have at 12 may surpass all odds & not become a homeless junkie & instead become a world renowned doctor who finds the cure for cancer. but she wasnt raped repeatedly from the age of six for that “reason”, no matter what anyone says & honestly, the liberation of the masses does not justify the suffering of one, especially a child. in my eyes at least. but again, im a bitter asshole. sorry i just Went The Fuck Off here oh my god.....if u read all this, thanks, pal. if not, thats cool too. but yea, send me ur stuff, id totally be down to read it. as for me potentially thinking ur cute, i have to look at my disgusting shitstain of a “face” every goddamn day so everyone else to me is fuckin aphrodite. but im also tryin to not put so much worth into physical appearance- its not something that should be complimented cuz its just smth a person was born with which is the same reason it shouldnt be insulted. this is gonna sound gay & stupid but i personally find that a persons essence & personality really permeates. you can meet someone who, objectively, isnt all that great looking, but once u get to know them, u really see their beauty - how the sun catches in their hair, their dilated pupils looking up at u from under long eyelashes in the dark, the birthmark on their right shoulder that they despise but that is so Them, the gap in their teeth, etc. & idk how to phrase this without it sounding like “well ur ugly but at least ur a good person”, cuz that only reiterates the societally indoctrinated emphasis on appearance & my kneejerk reaction to assure the person in question that thats not what im saying is only another result of that!!! its inescapable!!! but no, really, its not just a matter of “its on the inside that counts” - physically, they change or maybe, actually this is more likely, when i first meet them, my “default” eyes r just looking for features that i know im immediately attracted to (tall, blonde, sickly as in sunken eyes sticklike pale but still looks like she could & will beat the shit out of me) but as i fall in love or get to know them better, my eyes adjust & i notice & adore the beauty that was there all along. so uh. idk if ill think ur “cute”. but probably, yes, ill think ur an angel.

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ofseaandsky · 7 years

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New Fic - The Ties That Bind

A/N:

So this is something I’ve spent a few months now writing and polishing. It’s long, nearly 100K words at this point. I don’t have a number for how many chapters yet, because I’m still working out how I’m planning on splitting them up. It’s 90% done at this point which is why I’m comfortable starting to post it and I will finish it. It’s a slow burn because that’s the only way I see it ever really happening between these two. There will be smut later and apparently once they start, they don’t seem to want to stop, so there’s that. But I emphasize again, it’s a slow burn, there is quite a bit to get through before they get to that point.

Things I have decided to ignore:

1. Science (insofar as Raven’s extra time buying solution wouldn’t work, but the show is pretty relaxed on how science works, so, sorry)

2. Raven’s brain issue (it was a bit difficult to write in, but in theory it could be still happening in the background, but it’s not really relevant to the story so if you want to think she’s had it and solved it as she did on the show, that’s fine too. I’ve just not included it in the story)

3. Translations of Azgedasleng/Trigedasleng (basically because I’m a bit lazy and I couldn’t get it to work naturally

4. A couple of other thing which I won’t mention because Spoilers!

It’s set in 4x08 and goes off canon from that point forward. It’s unbeta’d so any mistakes are mine and I’m sorry. I try and catch them all, but it’s not always easy. Enjoy!

Chapter 1

Clarke stared at the empty spot where the destroyed radiation chamber had once sat. There was no trace of it apart from a few glittering shards of glass on the ground and scuff marks from where it had caught the floor as Roan and Miller had pushed it out of the room. An empty broken tomb of possibilities no one could stand to look at any longer. Especially Clarke.

She was still furious at her mother for her impulsive decision that had essentially destroyed their last hope. Abby was already packing up the last of her supplies, preparing to return to Polis, an urgent call from Kane prompting her into action. Clarke had no idea what had rattled her so much, but the discussion had been had behind closed doors and she had been too busy reconciling the events of the previous day to snoop.

Clarke couldn’t shake the shiver of discomfort that raced through her bones like an electric shock. She rubbed her arms to ward of the chill trying to force life back into her extremities but the heavy weight of failure and the sharp, bitter taste in the back of her throat filled her veins with ice as she thought back to the grounder’s last painful jerks and spasms as he spewed black blood like an oil geyser. She wasn’t sure what made the shard of self-hatred twist deep in her heart more: the death of the morally questionable man or her own half-failure in part due to her mother’s fear. She had never felt less like a leader than she did today. The weight of responsibility over so many lives was dragging her down to the ground, the gravity of it all pulling her down and making it hard to straighten her spine and continue standing tall.

Roan approached, dressed once more in leather and furs, sword strapped at his side. She watched him as he moved toward her with determination she envied, confident in himself and what they were doing. Or had tried to do. He had extended that faith to her and she felt shame burn deep at how little she deserved his earlier praise. He didn’t swagger with false confidence; it was part of the set of his bones. He moved like he knew he could part the seas and expected everyone else to acknowledge it. He moved like a king.

“Ready?” he asked and she nodded physically trying to shake herself from her thoughts.

It was time to move forward and hope that they would find something in the next week. If not, there was nothing left. They would all die. She couldn’t hold his gaze but felt him watching her closely as she cast her eyes about the room. She wanted so desperately to feel a measure of the hope she’d had when she plunged the needle in her arm. She knew that had been the right thing to do, but it had all been for nothing.

“I just want to say goodbye to Raven,” she said and he followed quietly behind her, standing a distance away. He was still a little awed at the technology the bunker housed but hid it well, especially to those who didn’t know him well. Clarke had seen the brief flicker of pride on his face as she pulled the needle from her arm and thought she may read him better than many. Like recognized like after all.

“We’re heading back to Polis,” Clarke said, walking up behind her friend as she furiously scanned the data on the screens before her. She looked over at the world map; a series of bright red squares highlighting all the known locations of nuclear power stations and was overwhelmed by the visual representation of what was to come. Death didn’t come quietly it seemed. It raged against them and had the audacity to brandish its colors as it rode toward them.

“Yeah, okay,” the dark-haired mechanic said, not looking up.

Clarke sighed. She didn’t want to leave on such bad terms. There had been no other choice but to test nightblood the way they did, but she knew it had brought back memories that Raven was none too happy to revisit. Too many people died at Mount Weather for the sake of the human race. Too many more would die soon and she was helpless to stop it and too angry to mourn what was to come.

Raven turned to Clarke abruptly; she looked equal parts disappointed and proud. It was an expression that would have looked odd on anyone else. She studied her friend for a long moment, before rolling her eyes and pulling her into a hug. Clarke gripped her tightly, relieved in the small show of forgiveness.

“I found a way to redirect the existing solar power grid structure to continue cooling the reactor cores on this continent,” she said gruffly pulling back from her gently.

“What does that mean?” Clarke asked and just like that the spark that had been extinguished was flickering again deep behind her sternum.

“Another two months before radiation levels get unlivable,” Raven said, a little excitement flowing into her words. “Depending on the jet stream and how quickly levels rise in Russia.”

“That’s amazing,” Clarke sagged with relief. She looked over to where Roan waited by the staircase and surprised him with a dazzling smile. He frowned at her, but the corner of his mouth turned up just a fraction.

“It won’t mean anything unless we can find a solution,” the mechanic snapped, glaring at her with a hard look. “One that doesn’t involve any more human experimentation.”

“We will do everything we can. We’ll find a way,” Clarke said with a nod and just like that the steel returned to her spine. She needed a minute to think. Two months. They would surely be able to find something in two months.

“I’ll let you know if I find anything else,” the anger had drained from Raven’s tone and Clarke shot her a small smile.

“Thank you,” the blonde said. “If anyone can, it’s you Rae.”

Raven nodded and turned back to the monitor before her, dismissing Clarke to continue searching through the data. Nightblood may still offer a solution if only they could tweak the formula. And Clarke had already given a bone marrow samples for them to work with when Luna once again refused. It may not be perfect, but there was a chance. There was a little spring in her step as she joined Roan at the foot of the stairs.

“Our resident genius bought us two more months,” she grinned up at the king, her mouth still stuck in a stupidly wide grin. His eyes shot over her shoulder to look at where Raven was pointedly ignoring them, the quirk of his lips expanding into what could passably be called a smile. There was a twinkle in his eye that wasn’t there before and Clarke would have bet it was hope.

It was time to head back to Polis.

The little optimism Clarke had left Raven with had all but been destroyed as she watched the warrior king stare down Indra and her fellow tribal leaders. The groundwork was being laid for a war no one could afford to fight. She wondered at what cruel joke was being played on her and their fellow survivors. She wanted to scream and rip the world apart with her rage. She felt it vibrating fiercely in her hands and had to clench her fists to make them stop shaking.

“We talked,” Roan said, looking at her significantly before he turned and left the bunker. She couldn’t stomach watching him leave.

Clarke felt bile make a home at the back of her throat once more. Her heart was shaking in her chest, fury at the unfairness of the fates conspiring against her making her want to explode and shower the world in her pitch and gore. This was not the end; she refused to let it be. She would rage against the coming darkness. She would not go gently into the night and let her people, grounders and Skaikru alike, slaughter each other when they could work together. Not this time.

“Indra,” Clarke turned to her sometime ally. “You cannot seriously want a war instead of the chance to survive!”

“It is the way it must be, Wanheda,” the other woman squared her shoulders and made to turn and walk away.

“Is there anything that can be done? Apart from war?” Clarke didn’t like the defeated edge her tone had. “You know that at best this will kill as many of your people as it will theirs. Probably more.”

“It is our way,” she repeated, but there was a flicker of doubt on her face. Clarke hadn’t even shared the extended timeline with anyone save Roan. Not even her mother knew. She would hold fast to that information until the very end.

“If there was someone that could unite the clans behind them?” Clarke pressed, casting a look at the warriors behind her.

“There is no longer a Commander to lead our people,” a bearded man said gruffly.

“I know,” she said urgently. “I’m begging you please, attend one more summit, with all the clans. If no agreement can be reached there, you can go to war.”

“I fail to see what that will accomplish,” Indra said eyes already burning with the promise of violence and war.

“Maybe nothing,” Clarke said, frustrated. “But if nothing else it will get more of your people in place to fight.”

“And more of theirs,” a woman interjected. The warriors looked firm in their resolve. Clarke thought quickly, they needed a leader not a child begging on their knees.

“You will need Skaikru to help you live in this bunker,” she changed tactics, it was time to pull out her Wanheda persona. “The tech is too complicated for you to learn. You will not survive without us, not in the time we have left.”

“You are willing to sacrifice your own people for Azgeda?” Indra asked appalled, but there was the slightest crack in her tone that spoke of uncertainty.

“I gave my word and I want everyone to see reason,” she said, her voice strong, shoulders thrown back, face cold and blank. “I am willing to do what it takes for everyone to survive. You will need Azgeda when that bunker door opens.”

“We will never need Azgeda,” a large man scoffed dangerously, spitting on the ground by his feet. But Indra watched her intrigued and the blonde pressed on.

“When that bunker door opens,” Clarke continued, staring down each of the Trikru warriors present, letting the righteous fire burning in her belly to shine through her eyes. “There will be nuclear winter. We may not see the sun clearly for years. The land will be cold and harsh, beyond anything you have seen. Beyond anything most of the clans have known to survive. Except Azgeda.”

“Why should we believe anything you say, Wanheda?” the same warrior from before took a challenging step forward.

“Because I want us all to survive,” she said firmly. “It is what I have always wanted us to do. Build a future together. Help each other. Survive together. It is what my father died for. If it comes to it, it is what I will die for. I was willing to just hours ago.”

Clarke stood tall, facing them as she would a whole army of warriors. Indra looked at her for a long moment, and she knew she was being evaluated. Dark eyes roamed over her face and Clarke held her breath with her chin raised and blue eyes filled with determination.

“If King Roan will call the summit,” she said slowly, ignoring the rumble of disagreement behind her. “Trikru will attend.”

“That is all I ask,” Clarke said and left the bunker as quickly as she could manage. Now she just had to convince Roan to try one more time. As soon as she cleared the bunker doors she shook the tremors from her limbs and flexed her fingers. She was shaking but used the adrenaline of the half won fight to drive her up the stairs to the king’s chambers.

“Wanheda kom Skaikru,” a guard announced as she entered the king’s chambers. Clarke had been surprised she hadn’t met with any resistance when she asked to speak to Roan. Echo glared at her as she entered and Clarke thought she saw Roan’s shoulders drop with a sigh. She wasn’t sure why that made her stomach clench in sympathy.

“What do you want, Clarke?” he said, pressing his hands down on the table. “I am preparing for war.”

He sounded more defeated than she had ever heard him as he stared down at a table filled with parchment and maps, hands heavy on the edge of the table. Clarke knew he wanted to work together but the look in his eyes as he faced the Trikru warriors and her own people when they reached the outskirts of Polis was one she would relieve for a long time. It had cut deeply into her though she did the best to warn him. She wouldn’t claim to feel as betrayed as he did, but she was certainly not running into the waiting arms of Skaikru any time soon.

“I have come to ask you to call the summit,” she said, eyeing Echo as the warrior scoffed. Her beautiful features were twisted in anger and her eyes were hot with rage and suppressed violence. It was obvious she didn’t like or trust Clarke and was just looking for an excuse to unleash her violence.

“The king will not place himself in such a position,” she said venomously, a hand on her sword. Her body was coiled like a snake ready to strike. The only thing that kept Clarke’s well-deserved fear of her in check was the deep loyalty Echo had displayed time and time again. She wouldn’t strike without the order and Clarke still trusted Roan.

“Echo,” Roan interjected after a moment. “Let her speak.”

Clarke maintained eye contact with Echo as she fell back. She wished she were having this discussion with Roan alone, but it appeared he was not about to offer her that trust. She supposed she couldn’t blame him all things considered, but the pang of hurt didn’t come as a surprise.

“I convinced Indra to bring Trikru to the summit,” Clarke explained, approaching him. “She promised she would come and hear us out.”

“Us?” the king straightened and turned toward her. His blue eyes were guarded and cold and glittered like ice.

“Yes, us,” she emphasized. “We are in this together. And you know it.”

“We tried talking,” he crossed his arms over his chest, the leather of his jacket creaking with the movement. He looked imposing and untouchable and Clarke swallowed against the knot of fear in her throat. She tried to focus on the faith that he had always seemed to extend her; she just had to find a way to encourage it.

“I need you to try one more time,” she said, reaching forward to lay a hand on his crossed arms. She saw Echo move closer and her eyes wearily flickered over to where she stood.

“I don’t have time for this,” he said. “And you are in no position to ask it of me.”

“I never betrayed you,” she said, feeling her heart race behind her sternum and allowed a little of her fear of him to slip into her expression. “I stood by you and honored our agreement. No one told me about the bunker. They lied to me because they knew I would never stand for it.”

“I believe you, it is why you are free now, but your people do not inspire my faith,” he trailed off, implication hanging heavily in the air, but didn’t back away.

She felt the heat of him under her hand and recalled the feel of his body pressed against her back, cold knife to her throat, as she trusted him to hold his hands steady. The last whispered ‘run’ before he pulled her behind him, attempting to grant her escape while knowingly sacrificing himself. She focused on the memory and leaned closer.

“They pursued a dream and found the only help available,” she emphasized. “And Jaha thinks he has more power than he does.”

“That does not reassure me, Clarke,” he countered, arms flexing and firm under her touch.

“I risked my life to save yours, because I have faith in you,” she said softly, trying for a little privacy for her confession. “I would have given it up in that radiation chamber, too to save us all. I trusted you then and I still trust you now. Please, give this one more chance.”

His eyes glittered down at her, his brows drawn in a harsh frown, making his features even sharper. She felt the puff of his breath against her face as he watched her silently, evaluating. The heat radiating off of him made her want to both press closer to stave off her fear-borne chills and step away knowing she was encroaching too close into his personal space. Too close to the fire in him that drew her in so strongly and called to a part of her she hardly knew. She waited silently heart thumping heavily in her chest.

“Please, Roan,” she pleaded softly, squeezing his forearm gently, and his eyes softened just a fraction. “I swear if this doesn’t work, I won’t stand in the way of your war. And when you win, I will convince Skaikru to help you survive in that bunker. But that is not the way I want to do this. And I don’t think you do either.”

The silence hung heavily in the room after her promise. She hadn’t meant to play to his pride, but she didn’t doubt Azgeda would easily defeat Trikru and take the bunker. They outnumbered Trikru nearly five to one from what she had seen but it wouldn’t make for an easy survival in the confines of the bunker. There needed to be trust between the survivors otherwise they may end up killing each other before a year was up.

“Call the summit,” he instructed, Echo visibly balked as if she had been physically struck, but nodded and left them alone in the room. “Either way this discussion ends tonight.”

“Thank you,” she said as her breath left her in a great rush of relief and removed her hand from him. He watched her take a step back with a look that seemed to cut straight through her. One she was growing familiar with from the stoic king.

“Your Chancellor may attend if you do,” Roan continued, moving back to the table. He turned to lean his back against it and faced her in a way that was probably meant to be casual, but there was nothing casual about the king of the Ice Nation.

“I will,” she agreed, unsure what to say now that she found herself alone with the dark haired man.

“How do you plan to convince them?” He asked, challenging her with a raised brow.

“I’ll tell them everything we know about praimfaya, the probable timeline, that we have hopes that nightblood will be a workable solution, the room we have in the bunker,” she said, wondering what he was really asking. She had nothing else to offer, and could only hope that the clans would be willing to work together. It was the only way to guarantee that the human race would have a hope of making it through what was coming.

“And when they want to declare war on each other for the bunker?” Roan prodded, and she realized he had already run through probable scenarios in his head.

“I hope they will understand that they need each other,” she answered defiantly, knowing she was being naïve. He was watching her still, his eyes flashing enigmatically at her impassioned responses.

“The clans will need more than your words, Clarke,” he admonished softly, but not gently. “We cannot abandon our ways for yours because you wish it.”

“I’m expecting everyone to see reason,” she argued. “Surely they will once we tell them what we can offer. Skaikru has the knowledge to survive in the bunker, but each clan has knowledge that will help us after.”

“And they will understand that they need Skaikru, but no other, and even then they could kill you all once they learn how to operate the technology. They will work together if you give them reason to trust in the Coalition. They cannot feel that they are sacrificing their own people to do what Skaikru or Azgeda or Trikru want. They need to feel they are a part of the plan, an essential part holding the whole together,” he continued, watching her.

“Working together is the only way humanity stands a chance. They are an essential part based on that alone. War will not solve anything at this point. We can offer an equal share of space in the bunker, we may even find more in the time we have left,” she said and thought back to the folded piece of paper tucked away in her belongings that burned her fingers every time they strayed over the already worn edges. She would not back down from this, it was too important. Surely, she could get through to at least one person.

“You never listen, Wanheda,” he exhaled in a rare show of irritation; the dismissive use of her title evidence of how far she was pushing his patience.

“I am listening!” she said, frustrated, taking the last remaining steps so she stood right in front of him. “I have been doing nothing but listen, we need to act! We can’t keep talking circles around each other. We have weeks left, maybe a couple of months if we’re lucky.”

“I agree,” he said, not phased by her sudden proximity. “And by allowing some concession to our ways the ambassadors will listen and choose those best suited for surviving what is coming. It would ensure humanity’s best chance at survival. And those who choose not to will be left to their fate.”

“What do you suggest?” she asked finally, and was rewarded with a small smile. This was the concession he had been waiting for.

“The clans will require blood,” he answered simply, sitting up a little straighter now that he knew he had her attention.

“More bloodshed?” Clarke asked, repulsed. “That is what we’re trying to avoid.”

“Blood oaths, Clarke,” he interrupted her before she could start venting her frustration. He held up the palm of his right hand where the wound from their initial oath was still pink and barely healed. Her own hand twinged in sympathy of their shared pain.

“Oaths?” she asked, frowning.

“And strategic marriage alliances,” he added and Clarke was hard pressed to define the look in his eyes. It seemed she had been too early to deem herself at all competent at reading him.

“Marriages?” She didn’t know what marriages would do to keep the peace but if a few marriages between the clans would ensure survival it seemed a small price to pay.

“Between kru people of similar standing that connect the clans who agree to the alliance,” he added, watching her mind work through the problem. “It would require a week of celebration, which I know you will object to, but it is the only way I see the clans coming to an accord.”

Clarke desperately wanted to object and had to forcibly bite down on her tongue to stop herself. Roan was watching her closely, an air of nonchalance that was a little too unaffected. She may not know every look he leveled on her, but after spending time with the reluctant monarch she felt she had started to understand when there was more behind his words. He had already weighted the merits of the other strategies and found this one to be the one most likely to work that much was becoming obvious. He had been silent most of the trip back to Polis, and Clarke had assumed that had been mainly due to her mother’s presence in the back of the rover, but maybe he had been running through probabilities.

“And this would unite the clans? Enough to buy us the time we need to prepare? Find a way to share that bunker?” she asked, looking up at him.

“Yes,” he replied.

“So we arrange a few marriages to intermix the clans, have a big party and that’s that?” she couldn’t help the disbelief that slipped into her tone as she folded her arms across her chest. Roan straightened to tower over her. She raised her chin to maintain eye contact.

“If you are trying to insult me it won’t work, Wanheda. Especially so soon after you’ve admitted you trust me. I don’t take such declarations lightly. Marriage is uncommon for many clans and basically unheard of between kru, this would bind them to each other by blood. Blood bonds are sacred and held above all else,” he explained, his voice a low rumble and face blank.

“And how do we decide who enters into these arranged marriages?” she asked, turning the problem over in her mind. She already knew it would be unpopular with Skaikru but desperate times called for desperate measures.

“Anyone entering these alliances must be willing. Your clan becomes their clan. Their clan becomes yours. It is no small burden to bear,” he looked over her shoulder briefly before returning his gaze to hers.

“So we bring this proposal to the summit and see who is willing,” she nodded, conceding to take a step back. “Those who are will be offered nightblood, if we get that solution to work, and any resources we manage to find, including the bunker, evenly distributed between the different krus.”

“That is acceptable,” he stated, placing the bone coronet on his dark hair, resuming the persona of King of Azgeda once more. A mask fell over his features as his eyes shuttered and sharpened. It made him look so much colder and she shivered under his scrutiny. A sharp knock on the door signaled the Summit was assembled.

“Who will you need from Skaikru? And how many?” she asked as she turned to leave. “We do not have an established monarchy or a warrior hierarchy.”

“I would think that at least one would be obvious, Wanheda,” he replied, his cold mask slipping into a smirk as he donned his cloak in preparation for the meeting with the gathered leaders and ambassadors.

Clarke slowly froze in shock, realizing the implication of the words immediately. She would be top of the list for her people, another in a long line of sacrifices she continued to make since that overheard conversation between her parents. It felt like time slowed and stilled, the world around her sharpening as the air was sucked out of her lungs. She wasn’t one to let others fly into battle on her behalf, but a part of her, a deep secret part of her, shuddered at the thought of politically motivated marriage especially since odds were she would never have met her groom to be before. The thought made her stomach twist and she focused on the scuffed toes of her boots.

“And who holds similar standing to the Commander of Death?” she spat the question, not daring to meet his eyes in fear of seeing humour, or worse, pity in them.

“I would suggest perhaps only a king,” Roan replied, an edge to his tone she couldn’t understand. When her head shot up in surprise to look at him, all she saw was his back as he left his chamber for the ambassador’s summit in the throne room. She felt like she knew less than she had going in but knew that something monumental had shifted. She only hoped it was in the right direction.

“Oh, shit,” she whispered, doing her best to school her features into the indifferent mask of the Wanheda when it felt like the floor had disappeared from under her feet. She trusted Roan, didn’t she? Suddenly she wasn’t so sure.

#my fic #ties that bind clarkexroan #clarke x roan #the 100 #canon divergent

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