there’s a very small part of me hoping that Ed and Oz will quite literally kiss and make up based off of the fact that the Gotham writers didn’t know they were getting renewed until mad late and might have been more inclined therefore to wrap up loose ends and take risks, but they were also pretty much guaranteed for renewal so it’s literally all based on how secure they were feeling and I have no data for that :/ plus, who’s to say they would be inclined to take a chance based on the fact that this might be the end
I’m just speculating here, we really don’t know either way about anything which is why I said a very small part
Three months, nine days, and still no sign of Steven.
Time seemed to be moving much slower. In Connie’s opinion, each week felt like its own personal decade, and as each one came to an unceremonious close, her hope gradually waned with it.
Perhaps he wasn’t returning after all.
Perhaps she should’ve listened to the gems instead of ignoring them, stubbornly ignoring the makeshift sentiments meant for her sake, the placating words that reverberated on deaf ears of if he hasn’t reformed, then he must be gone.
But she was unwilling to let him go that easily, unwilling to believe that he was dead. She’d known something was horribly amiss when Lars, now a strangely familiar shade of pink, had emerged from a smoldering Roaming Eye, Steven’s gem clasped in his shaking hand. There’d been a fight, he muttered, and Steven’s bubble just couldn’t hold. More had been said, of course, but it had been lost on her.
Lost. Yes, lost. That was the name for the sensation that had permeated not only her, but the gems as well. Lost in grief, lost in anger, lost in guilt…it didn’t really matter. Different emotions, but eerily similar when compared to one another.
Connie wasn’t well-equipped to handle the all-consuming loss that made her heart so, so hollow. Thankfully, the gems weren’t either. Day after day she would stop by their home, and day after day she was met with newfound disappointment…
…that was, until three months, ten days, and fifteen hours had passed.
His gem shimmered, rising from the embroidered pillow it had been resting upon, resplendent as an evening star. Finally, he appeared in a flash of light. It was Steven all right, but not quite the same Steven she had seen board the spacecraft with Aquamarine and the two Topaz bodyguards. He was older, looking more like a boy of fourteen than he ever had before, and she couldn’t help but notice the wispy strands of rose-colored hair threaded throughout his dark curls. Had they been there when…? No, no, surely not, but that didn’t matter as she flung her arms around him, squeezing him against her, a cry bubbling up in her throat.
He was taller, too, taller than her. How odd it was, how odd indeed.
She had every intention to bury her face into his chest, but immediately stopped and took a step back when he stiffened without any apparent reason. A sniffling began, just a quiet hum at first, and she was startled into silence, mouth gaping open, as tears began to trickle down his flushed cheeks. He was outright sobbing.
“Connie, I’m so sorry.” He tilted his torso away from her as if ashamed.
Instead of embracing him, her hand reached to hold his, and their fingers interlaced. A small hiccup, then another,
“Steven, there’s nothing to be sorry about. It’s not like you knew–”
“You don’t understand! I could’ve come back sooner, but I didn’t!”
The statement, as simple as it is, was incomprehensible. Ice coursed through her veins.
“What…What do you mean? Why didn’t you–”
And then his eyes met hers, and everything instantly fell into place.
Oh. Oh. She knew that look.
The answer was already there.
“It was her, wasn’t it? You couldn’t leave without finding her?”
He nodded, the waterworks commencing once more.
“Tell me, how could I have?”
Among the labyrinthine hedges of a garden steeped in an eternal summer, a mother and a son discuss the inevitability of love, life, and loss, and decide that some matters can never truly be mended, not even by time. She plants a single kiss on his forehead, a kiss, he thinks, that has an almost overpowering scent of flowers about it, and bids him farewell, may their paths cross again someday.
Courtesy of The 100 season 4 finale and my own anxieties about season 5
Clarke and Bellamy finally find each other again, but a lot has changed in six years…
As people rushed out of the cells and down the corridor, one prisoner rushed out only to stop. People pushed past as he looked down both ends of the corridor, probably determining the best exit route. Clarke’s heart tried to make its way into her throat. Perhaps that’s why she could barely gasp out his name.
Whether he heard the barely audible breath or his gaze was inextricably drawn to her as it always seemed to be, Bellamy turned, locking eyes with her even as bodies surged past between them. His big brown eyes were wide, freckles standing out against skin paled from the artificial light.
She couldn’t remember who moved first but they were both suddenly hurtling through the crowds, away from the exits, towards each other. Clarke practically launched herself into his arms as Bellamy clutched her to him. She buried her face into his shoulder as he buried his into her hair. She could feel his arms convulse around her—they were definitely bigger, he must’ve been working out, what else would there be to do on the Ark for six years.
Six years. Had it really been that long since she had seen him. Since they had parted on the island; her racing off to the radio tower to send the signal to turn the Ark’s power on so he and Raven and Monty and the others could survive. Of course it had been that long. She had radioed him every day of those six years, never even knowing if the signal had gone through, if he was alive.
But he was. He was right here. With her.
She could feel Bellamy’s heart pounding just as hard as hers. His shirt was damp from the steam billowing out of the pipes but it still smelled like him. Clarke tightened her arms around his neck, gripping her own arms as if locking in, unwilling to let anyone separate them ever again.
It seemed they stayed that way for an eternity before they each loosened their grips, still holding onto each other as if afraid they would vanish should they let go. They pulled away just enough to be able to look at each other; to note the slight changes in their faces from the years apart but how ultimately the same they still looked. Bellamy’s hair was a bit longer, probably unable to cut it while held prisoner, and he had facial hair—not quite a beard yet but a bit too much to be called stubble— that Clarke wasn’t sure about. It made him look older, rougher. It didn’t match his eyes. Those big brown orbs that threw the doors wide on his every emotion no matter how hard he tried to hide it. She was staring into them too long. But then, they tended to do that didn’t they? A slight smile was forming on his lips and Clarke could feel herself beaming even as tears leaked down her face.
“You’re alive,” they whispered simultaneously.
Bellamy grinned and Clarke’s sob turned into a laugh. Bellamy, ever so gently, wiped the tears from her cheek, Clarke nuzzling into his palm. As his hand slowly fell away, it was then that Clarke noticed Monty and Murphy behind him. They stood back a few steps, letting the two reunite. But each had a strange look on their faces as they looked back on the two before turning and scanning the rushing crowd.
Bellamy noticed Clarke’s glance at the others and his face began to fall.
“Bellamy, what is it?”
Still holding onto her arms, Bellamy turned to look back.
Emori and Harper raced out of one of the cells but stopped, waiting by the door. Echo appeared, dragging Raven out with her. Raven was limping slightly still. Emori hastened to help Raven as Harper and Echo scanned the corridor for the men. Harper spotted them and led the rush over, Raven and Emori behind, followed by Echo. Clarke had thought that they had been slowed down by Raven’s leg, but as the women moved towards them, Echo was also slowed by a burden she was carrying. A little girl with dark curls and big eyes was poised on her hip.
Bellamy stiffened and stepped away from Clarke. He almost stepped out of her reach, but Clarke kept a grip on his sleeve.
Harper flew into Monty’s arms while Murphy rushed to kiss Emori before helping her with Raven. Bellamy seemed rooted in place, turned halfway towards the approaching women, almost straining towards them, but something seemed to be holding him back—something besides Clarke’s fist wadded in his sleeve. With Bellamy turned, Raven and Echo now caught sight of Clarke. Something flashed in Raven’s eyes—surprise, relief, joy, and then a look that was eerily familiar. Echo cast a glance to Raven, but otherwise betrayed no emotion, merely adjusting the girl on her hip as they reached the men.
Bellamy looked completely lost. He locked eyes with Raven and a look passed between them that sent a swift pain to Clarke’s chest though she didn’t know why. Or maybe she did know why, she just wouldn’t admit it yet. Bellamy turned back to Clarke, eyes wide, but now fearful. He looked utterly heartbroken. His mouth opened as if to speak, but nothing came out before he glanced back towards Raven and Echo and the girl on her hip.
As Echo approached, the girl surged out of her arms towards Bellamy. He took her from Echo instinctively—the movement looking completely natural. He didn’t even have to think about it as he held her to his chest, her arms latching around his neck as she buried her face into his neck, not entirely unlike what Clarke had done just moments before. Bellamy kissed the top of the girl’s head, squeezing her tight. Raven reached out to stroke the girl’s hair, her hand just lingering on Bellamy’s shoulder before falling back down. The girl then pulled back, Bellamy adjusting her to his hip, and she looked over at Clarke.
“Daddy, who’s that?”
Clarke’s heart in her throat was now choking her.
Raven looked away, Emori rubbing circles on her back comfortingly. Bellamy’s entire body was rigid. He looked like he would shatter at the slightest touch as his watery eyes turned briefly to Clarke as if in apology.
“Clarke,” Bellamy began gruffly, addressing the girl on his hip first before looking back over to the woman he had been forced to leave behind. “This is Clarke.”
everyday i live in a cold fear that someone will mistake my Revan lego figure for kylo ren and not bring it up so i can never correct them and them just forever thinking i have a kylo ren figure on my desk