Pfannkuchenpferd



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    “There’s no one else to live for anymore.” Clarke utters those words without too much emotion. They’ve had time over the years to reflect on all the people ripped away from their lives. It’s no longer a fierce, stabbing pain, just a kind of endless ache that surges and subsides with every breath they take. After all their efforts, they failed. The story of the Skai Kru would die with them. “We’re the last of our people.”

    Bellamy finally looks up at her tone of voice and after a pause he says, slowly, “We don’t have to be.”

    --

    (Life After.)

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    01 Aug 2018

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    “You and him will live again by my hand. But whether you fall in love again is entirely up to you.”

    --

    Reincarnation AU. Nine lifetimes where Clarke and Bellamy meet again, and again, and again.

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    01 Aug 2018

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    “I guess one of us is messed up,” he said, “and it’s part of our hallucination that the other is, too.” He paused. “Seems appropriately hellish that my mind sticks me with you.”

    She pursed her lips. “Likewise.”

    AU. Clarke is trapped in a stupid time loop, and guess who's trapped with her?

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    01 Aug 2018

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    Merlin looked uncertainly to Arthur. “Have you ever made bread?” he asked. / “How hard could it be?” Arthur said.

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    07 Jul 2018

    Bookmarker's Notes

    Merlin and Arthur visit Ealdor for Hunith's birthday. There are soft boys and a magic reveal. Told from Arthur's POV.

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    The ceremony is surreal, like an out of body experience. She walks up a makeshift aisle, the crowd parting to watch her, to take her measure. She’s aware a priest of some sort says words that hush the crowd, but she can’t understand them. She throws a glance over her shoulder, where her mother is bleary eyed but stone faced. She shakes her head almost imperceptibly but she doesn’t interrupt or object. She knows their survival hinges on this.

    She turns back to the priest, barely glancing at the man next to her, but his presence feels overwhelming. His breathing is even, he doesn’t fidget like she suddenly realises she is. He smells a bit spicy, a little heavy. Foreign. She nearly jumps when he shifts on his feet and brushes against her arm, the heat of him searing her skin.

    Her eyes are firmly fixed ahead as the priest starts proceedings, as he chants prayers that she can’t decipher. She can only pick out certain words, and they all make her blood still in her veins. Death, fight, blood. If there is a word for love in trigedasleng she doesn't know it.

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    03 Jul 2018