he said this is abby

evidence that david wymack is the best character in this entire series, part ii

part i, part iii

The Raven King

  • Wymack didn’t care if he had nine Foxes or twenty-five. He’d stand behind them until the bitter, bloody end.
  • “Last I checked Andrew doesn’t like you,” Wymack said.
    • “He still doesn’t,” Neil said, but he didn’t bother to explain.
    • “Interesting.”
  • “Abby wrote me a speech to give you this afternoon. It sounded nice, had lots of stuff about courage and loss and coming together in everyone’s time of need. I tore it up and tossed it in the trash can beside my desk.”
  • Wymack cleared his throat and scratched a hand through his short hair. “Look. Shit happened. Shit’s going to keep happening. You don’t need me to tell you life isn’t fair. You’re here because you know it isn’t.”
  • “I want you on the court in light gear in five minutes or I’ll sign you all up for a marathon.”
  • “I don’t pay for electricity in this place so you can stand around and gossip.”
  • “Andrew Joseph Minyard, what the flying fuck have you done this time?”
  • “Answers now, Aaron,” Wymack said.
    • “I don’t know,” Aaron said.
    • “My ass you don’t.”
  • They were all on time, but Wymack and Abby were conspicuously absent.”
  • “Get your gear and get out of my locker room.”
  • He looked the other way because he knew how badly some of them needed their escapes to survive.
  • It was apparently better to be uncomfortable but safe than to trust a stranger with his fractured team.
  • “Last I checked this was a team meeting, not a gossip circle.”
  • “If any of you so much as look at the Terrapins on your way past their benches I’ll let you walk home from here.”
  • “Some people are just hardwired to be stupid.”
  • Neil had never seen Wymack smile like this. It was small but fierce, as angry as it was proud.
  • “Why did you pay for stalls, Coach?”
    • Wymack lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Maybe I knew you’d need them one day.”
  • Nicky pulled the window down to yell insults, but Wymack threatened him into silence.
  • Wymack pulled a bottle of vodka out of the bag and put it down beside Kevin. “You have ten seconds to inhale as much of this as you can. I’m timing you. Go.”
  • Wymack turned on Neil. “Did you or did you not tell me you weren’t going to start a fight?”
  • “What can I do?” Wymack asked.
    • …”I don’t know,” Neil said.
    • “When you know, tell me.”
  • “Go forth,” Wymack told his Foxes. “Have fun. Or don’t. I don’t care. Just no more fighting, you got me?”
  • “Andrew spent that night here with me. At first I figured he was mad at Kevin for lying to him, but he was more worked up about you.”
  • “I didn’t ask for an apology, wiseass.”
  • Wymack stared at him for an endless minute, then said too quietly, “The fuck did you just say to me?”
  • “He chose to cross a line. You didn’t. You hear me? You didn’t. Don’t ever blame yourself for Seth’s death.”
  • Wymack kept Neil away from the microphone, not trusting Neil to behave himself.
  • “Five points or twenty-six miles. Do the math and decide which one makes you happier.”
  • “Let’s do this,” he said. “The sooner we kill these bastards, the sooner we can get roaring drunk at Abby’s place. I spent all damned morning stocking her fridge.”
  • “I have a cleaning crew coming in tomorrow to wash the Raven stench off our court. Let’s get the hell out of here and get wasted.”
  • “Neil,” Wymack said. “Between you and me, I don’t think you’ve ever been fine.”
  • “Nicky tried to hug Andrew and almost got himself staked with a kitchen knife.”
  • “Speaking of unpredictable assholes, when did that happen?”
    • “When did what?” Neil asked.
    • Wymack eyed him. “Forget it.”
  • “Figure out what you two need to cope with this, and let us know.”
  • “I want one lap for every time you’ve ever said the NCAA’s never had your back.”
    • “Oh, Jesus,” Nicky said. “We’ll be running all day.”
    • “Better get started, then,” Wymack said. “Move out, maggots.”
  • “Be here at six o’clock tomorrow morning,” Wymack said. “We’ve got a game to win Friday.”
  • [Nicky]: “I can’t understand you. That’s not fair.”
    • “Think about that the next time you use German at my practices,” Wymack said.
  • Wymack came out of nowhere and hauled Neil off Riko like he weighed nothing at all.
  • Wymack answered on the fourth ring. “You have a good reason to be bothering me on a holiday?”
  • “He sounds like Neil,” Wymack said, “but he doesn’t look like him. I’ll take your explanation from the top and without a side order of bullshit, thanks.”
  • He stopped fighting to get free; the hands that had been trying to wrench Wymack’s arms off him now held on for dear life.
  • “Can I let go of you and trust you to behave, or are you going to try and cut your face off again?”
  • Wymack didn’t say anything about the scars… He just checked Neil over with a clinical eye and poked at every line of stitches for weaknesses.
  • “He gave me a contract but I wouldn’t sign it. He couldn’t make me sign it. This doesn’t mean anything. I’m still a Fox.”
    • “Of course you are,” Wymack said.

and of course, mine and everyone else’s personal favorite:

  • “Help me,” he said through gritted teeth.”
    • “Let me,” Wymack shot back.
anyway...

Clarke receiving the Nightblood injection does not mean she’s going to take the chip and become the next commander, remember at this point Clarke doesn’t even know where the chip is. I also think the Nightblood injection will be good for Clarke personally and for Bellarke:

Why this will be good for Clarke and why she won’t be taking the chip:

Clarke doesn’t need the chip to become a leader, she already is-think back to Ep 1 of this Season when Kane told Abby: “The youth shall inherit the earth.” Clarke and Bellamy are taking over leadership of the Arkadians from Kane and Abby and this is just another step forward on that journey. To have Clarke take the chip would be a step back on her leadership journey. 

Clarke needs to become a leader in her own right, not one who just follows the advice she got from L/xa. so Clarke injecting herself with Nightblood could possibly be one of the first real steps we see Clarke make to becoming her own kind of leader, not just one who parrots the advice of the leaders shes known. 

To extrapolate on this idea that Clarke is going to finally begin to come into her own. One of L/xa’s key pieces of advice was: “You have to be willing to send others to fight and die for you” (paraphrasing). Well, Clarke’s already tried this method twice now: the first time with the Grounder guy and then in even considering Emori. In choosing to use the Nightblood on herself, she shows hat she is willing to sacrifice herself (something we haven’t seen Clarke do before) for her people, which…is extremely reminiscent of one Bellamy Blake. 

I also suspect that the Nightblood will wind up protecting Clarke from the ill effects of radiation at some point in the future. 

Why this will be good for Bellarke:

Back in November (around the time they were filming 409 and 410), Bob gave an interview where he said that Abby and Bellamy are always united in wanting Clarke’s safety and something we would see in the later episodes of the Season. 

Clarke will obviously be a radiation test subject now, they have no choice it would be a waste of perfectly good Nightblood if they didn’t and so, like Luna, she too will suffer temporarily from radiation poisoning. I believe Bellamy will be informed/figure out that Clarke is suffering from radiation poisoning and come to her. 

I think this will bring the foreshadowing in 406 (Bellamy: “Clarke, if we don’t see each other again…”, Clarke: “We will.”) full circle and open the door for emotional (possibly romantic) confessions. 

2

“I dropped my gear in New York,” Neil said.
Andrew found it while he was looking for you,” Abby said.

Soul Mates Part One

Everyone has a soulmate mark.

Somewhere on their body is scrawled the first words that your soulmate will utter to you.

Sometimes your born with it and sometimes you aren’t.

People who aren’t born with theirs usually come in within five years.

Eric Bittle is fortunate enough that he is born with his scrawled along the right side of his rib cage.

Unfortunately, it has a certain… connotation to it.

Bittle. You need to eat more protein.

Of course as a kid it didn’t occur to him what that implied so he showed it off to everyone he ever met.

People are cruel.

He knows for a fact that his Aunt mocks his mother relentlessly for it until she gives birth and her daughter is born with the words Take that fucking back! and Holy fucking shit! on both or her inner thighs.

Still it’s nice to have Abby in his corner growing up.

Because even his is super sexual sounding at least he isn’t one in a hundred with two marks.

When they move to Atlanta and people really start being cruel about his mark his mother tries to help by pointing out that it could mean that the girl in his future just worries about his health.

Eric already knows this is wrong because he is thirteen and Brian Finneran does things for him.

And then the closet incident happens and Coach moves them back to Madison.

Eric has to give up figure skating and has to put up with his crazy Aunt Connie and her fire and brimstone pastor husband but he gains Abby back in his everyday life and joins their school’s coed hockey team and even get to be captain.

It’s nice but there is something deep inside of him that feels the need to get away from Georgia and the hate and the fear.

And the scholarship to Samwell comes and it couldn’t be more perfect.

Samwell is only 30 minutes from Providence, where Abby is going to school.

Plus, it is one of the most LBGTQ+ schools in the country.

Eric meets Shitty at his first team meeting.

Eric is… an interesting person to say the least.

He’s wearing a crop top and short shorts and no seems to care.

(After a while Eric realizes that it’s merely that they’ve gotten used to the man’s antics.)

Shitty is shorter than most of the team but still not as short as Eric and has some of the most gorgeous hair he’d ever seen.

The words Whoa brah! You’re stache is ‘swawesome! is written on his hip and he takes one look at Eric’s name tag and declares that Eric will henceforth be known Bitty.

Bitty likes it.

Shitty introduces Bitty to Ransom and Holster that day as well.

Ransom is a handsome black Canadian D-Man and Holster is his equally handsome white Upstate New Yorkian counterpart.

Shitty introduces them as soulmates and Bitty can see it in the way they move together.

(Bitty is told Holster has Yo! Are you Birkholtz? on one thigh and Ransom has Yeah, I’m Birkholtz. Boys back in Juniors called me Birker. on his.)

It isn’t long after that he runs into a man after getting separated from Shitty, Ransom and Holster.

He’s tall and intense and oh so good looking.

Bitty feels his breathe catch.

He doesn’t think he’s ever seen someone so good looking in his life.

The man stares, or glares, at Bitty.

“Oh! Um, Hello!” Bitty says awkwardly.

The man’s stare darkens and he pushes past Bitty, who lets out a huff.

Rude.

He told Shitty as much when he finally found him again.

Shitty merely laughed.

“Brah that was Jack. He’s our captain. He’s like super fucking intense about hockey but he’s my best fucking friend.”

Abby laughs at him over Skype when he complains to her.

She’s still in Georgia for a few weeks.

“Sounds like somebody is in love!” She teased.

Bitty glared at her.

He’d never straight up told that he was gay but she would tease him and point out hot guys and he’d just roll with it.

“Shut up. He’s handsome but a jerk.” Bitty said.

“At least he didn’t proposition you to give him a blow job.” Abby pointed out.

She tilted her head and frowned.

“On second thought never mind. I’m sorry he didn’t.”

Bitty flips her off and she giggles.

A few days later Bitty makes his way to team breakfast.

Shitty, Ransom and Holster are just as friendly as before and Bitty feels more at home than he thought he ever would.

And then it happens.

“Bittle.”

Bitty looks up to see Jack staring down at him with a deep frown.

“You need to eat more protein.” Jack says before he walks away.

Bitty’s breath hitches and he stares at Jack as he walks away.

Holy.

Shit.

evidence that david wymack is the best character in this entire series, part i

part ii, part iii

The Foxhole Court

  • “I want my subs at the wall cheering them on, but if you trip up a referee, I will cut you.”
  • “Watch me beam with pride. It’s not your job to take care of yourself anymore.”
  • Wymack sliced a hand across his throat and jerked his thumb over his shoulder. Neil hoped he was right in translating it as “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
  • “Do you have any idea how much I hate coming home and finding you in my apartment?”
  • Wymack only recruited athletes from broken homes. His decision to turn the Foxhole Court into a halfway house of sorts was nice in theory, but it meant his players were fractured isolationists who couldn’t get along long enough to get through a game.
  • “Are you done wasting my oxygen yet?”
  • “Kevin, wake that dingbat without getting punched in the face.”
  • “You have five seconds to get your retarded psycho ass to my apartment! You even think about telling me no and I swear to god I’ll throw Kevin’s contract down the garbage disposal.”
  • “Your opinion has been noted and dismissed,” Wymack said. “Anything else, or are you going to start signing stuff?”
  • “I am going to drop you off at the dorm and spend the rest of the day drinking. Damage control can wait until tomorrow.”
  • “Kevin, you’re out if your hand so much as itches. Don’t be stupid tonight.”
  • “Coach Wymack was the only one I could think of turning to, and he didn’t disappoint me.”
  • Wymack snapped his fingers in front of Andrew’s face, trying to get Andrew to look at him instead of Neil.
  • “Damn it all to hell. Hemmick! You were supposed to wake them up ten miles ago.”
  • “Did you think I made the team the way it is because I thought it would be a good publicity stunt? It’s about second chances, Neil. Second, third, fourth, whatever, as long as you get at least one more than anyone else wanted to give you.”
  • “We saw their files,” Wymack said. “We chose you.”
  • “Breaking news: I don’t care.”
  • Neil wasn’t quite ready to face Andrew yet and he didn’t want to deal with this teammate’s curiosity over his prolonged absence, so he went to Wymack’s apartment instead.
  • “When I said Abby and I would look out for you, I didn’t mean you should pick a fight with Riko on national television,” Wymack said. “Should I have spelled that out beforehand?”

and my personal favorite for last

  • “God damn it, Minyard. This is why we can’t have nice things.”
Anyway...

I’ve noticed some people are bothered when people point out (rightfully) that the beautiful Clarke/Abby scene where Clarke discusses her love for L/xa could even possibly be a Bellarke moment. 

The thing is, you all seem to believe that we are saying this is a romantic Bellarke moment. This thought process ignores the fact that Bellamy and Clarke were friends before anything romantic began to develop between them. A large part of the reason people ship Bellarke is because the relationship is rooted in mutual respect, trust and love for one another. This thought process also ignores the fact that Bellamy has also lost someone he loved very recently. 

Bellamy looks at Clarke not because he is jealous or angry. He looks at Clarke with sadness and empathy. His friend is hurting. His friend whom he loves. He understands this pain. He has just lost Gina (whose death was mentioned just prior to the jail scene, by the way). 

Also, we’re not even the ones who made this a Bellarke moment! The camera and editing department did that for us! There is literally a two fold fade in to Bellamy here:

We first see Kane, who is looking down, but the cell is obviously pretty small, he can hear what’s being said between Abby and Clarke. He glances up and looks to the left, perhaps just to check his surroundings. He’s clearly not thinking that the conversation is having any effect on Bellamy. His initial intent is probably just to make sure he’s ok because they’re in prison. 

However, he very clearly does a double take, which implies that he sees something in Bellamy’s expression that makes him take a closer look. After Kane’s double take, the camera shifts focus and brings Bellamy into the scene, we are seeing the expression that made Kane do a double take. 

The camera stays on this expression for a beat. Bellamy is looking at Clarke and Abby, his expression somber. If you look closely at his facial expression, you can see pain there. This conversation does pain him, but not because he’s jealous. He doesn’t want to see Clarke hurting, and perhaps he’s also thinking of Gina’s death in this moment. Gina whom he loved and lost to tragedy, much as Clarke lost L/xa to tragedy. 

Finally, we have the close up shot of Bellamy, where he shifts his eyes away from the intimate moment between mother and daughter and to the side. He even turns his head away a bit as well. Perhaps seeing Clarke in pain bothers him, but I think it’s more likely that he is taking this time to reflect on his own loss. 

Stop being upset because the narrative is linking the very similar stories of our main characters into one coherent story.

anonymous asked:

Can you do something where Percy is fighting a monster to protect his little sister. Percy gets hurt really badly he kills it Annabeth was meeting them and sees Percy get hurt And then she is praying to for help and it starts to rain healing him

  • “Percy, why are we running?” His little sister, Abbie, asked. She was slightly out of breath.
  • Percy pulled her off of the slide and told her to run. He was practically dragging her since he was much taller and stronger. 
  • “There’s a monster. Bad monster, Abbie.” He replied, pulling his sister down a what he thought was a block, but it was a dead end. 
  • He pushed Abbie behind  him and uncapped Riptide. Percy knew that Abbie couldn’t see what he could. The Mist was too strong on her. Riptide probably looked like a baseball bat or something. 
  • “Stay behind me.” He warned her. 
  • Abbie stayed back, behind her brother. She looked at him, scared out of her mind. Whenever Percy said there were monsters, it never ended well. Percy always ended up with new bruises or scratches. 
  • Percy stared at the empousa. He wanted to defend his sister, but the empousa charged at him. He slashed Riptide as she got closer. She dodged and scratched Percy. 
  • He backed up and there was blood dripping from his arm where he got scratched. “Get away from me.”
  • “What’s wrong, Percy?” She looked at him with a slight smile, her voice dripping with charmspeak. “Why would you try to hurt a pretty lady like me?”
  • He froze as she walked closer to him. Her finger tracing his chest as he stared at her. 
  • “And you don’t want to see your sister get hurt.” Her mouth next to his ear. Her mouth was so close to his throat where she could drink his blood. 
  • “PERCY!” Abbie yelled right as the empousa bit Percy.
  • He went still. Abbie’s scream was faint to him, but he heard her. His arm felt limp, but he curled his fingers tighter around Riptide. Riptide felt like lead as he made a stabbing motion. 
  • The empousa shrieked before turning into dust on him. He was swaying back and forth until he fell to the ground. 
  • “Percy! Percy!” Abbie started crying. Her big brother was bare conscious. “Help! Help!”
  •  She heard running and suddenly Annabeth appeared in the alley. Abbie was relieved to see her. They were suppose to meet her at the Museum of Natural History but…they never made it there.
  • “Annabeth! Please help Percy.” Abbie had tears running down her face. 
  • “What happened?” She asked, kneeling next to her boyfriend. Her hand went to his wrist to check his pulse. She saw him bleeding and ripped the hem of her shirt to try and put pressure on it.
  • “This girl was chasing us. Percy said she was a monster. Then he tried to fight but he was under a spell and she bit him.” Abbie said between sobs.
  • Annabeth cursed in Greek. She knew she wasn’t suppose to, but Percy’s pulse was weak and the loss of blood wasn’t good. Even the ambrosia and nectar she had with him wouldn’t help him. 
  • So she did the one thing she could think of, she prayed to the gods for help. Anything to save him because even though she was calm on the outside, she was shaking and crying in the inside.
  • Abbie looked at Annabeth. “Is he going to be okay?”
  • “Y-Yeah.” She replied. “He’s going to be fine.”
  • There was a drop of water. Then another. And another until it started raining. Annabeth looked up at the sky and hoped this was a sign. 
  • Percy’s body started to glow in a green light. Abiie pulled on Annabeth’s shirt to get her attention as color came back into his face. 
  • “Percy?” Annabeth whispered, her tears mixing in with the rain. 
  • His eyes slowly opened as the green glow brightened. He looked at Annabeth then at Abbie. 
  • “Hi. When did you get here?” He asked.
  • Annabeth slightly shoved him before wrapping him up in a hug. “I thought you were going to die.”
  • “Well, I’m not dead. Where’s Abbie?” He asked, sitting up on his elbows.
  • Abbie tackled him with a hug. She was shaking from being wet and crying. She didn’t let go when he completely sat up. 
  • “Hey, it’s okay. I’m okay.” Percy promised rubbing her back. “I’m okay Abbie.”
  • She nodded and clung onto him like her life depended on it.
Beautiful Goodbye

Author’s Note: So I’ve heard from a few people on Twitter who wished the goodbye scene was longer/explained more about why Abby chose to take off the necklace with Jake’s ring. Since I agreed, I decided to write a short (well okay, close to 4,000-word) thing about it from Marcus’ perspective. So basically, this is my interpretation of how the goodbye scene could have gone down if the writers hadn’t chosen to cut away after the kiss.

Rating: M-ish? I’m TRASH and hyped up on The Scene, so of course there’s sexytimes.

It was dark in the tower, save for the flickering of a few candles aligned at the sides of the hallways: hardly enough to fend off the blackness of night. Striding through the empty corridors, Marcus mused on the iciness of the streets below. The danger that lurked in every shadow, the hatred hidden in glares and deciphered through threats. His chest ached, remembering the ambassador’s hatred of Skaikru, his refusal to choose diplomacy over violence. A stab of pain so intense that it might have been he, not the Ice King, who’d been shot.

How deftly Marcus had tried.

How decisively he’d failed.

There has to be another way, he’d thought, urging Roan to delay his battle in favor of negotiations. And he’d been so sure he could do it – so confident they would see his side, cherish life over bloodshed – that the ambassador’s refusal had knocked the breath from his lungs like a punch to the gut. Diplomacy, he knew, was far from an exact science. There were no guarantees. But to have failed now, at such a crucial time…he could hardly offer himself forgiveness when regret was the only emotion available.

Octavia had barely looked at him after that; instead of remaining with him, she’d chosen to seek out Indra. Since midday, he hadn’t so much as glimpsed her. Marcus thought he’d seen something pitying in her gaze – something that spoke more than her words ever could, something that implied she blamed grounder politics and not him for his shortcomings – and as small a gesture as it was, he appreciated it. If nothing else, at least she’d been willing to give peace a chance.

A soft breeze blew through an open door, and Marcus breathed out a soft sigh as the coolness of the night wind washed over him. As loath as he was to admit it, there was nothing more to be done. He would have to accept whatever came in the morning, swallow the bitterness of self-loathing that had burbled again inside him when the boy mentioned what the chip had forced him to do. Focusing on what came next was easy when hope was abundant, but in its absence his mind turned back to territory it had explored a thousand times before, terrain he and his people had mapped out so well.

It was a land of remorse.

Dwelling on the past did him little good, but in times like these it became harder to construct a dam strong enough to hold back their tide. A few more seconds, and he could have taken Bellamy’s life. Had ALIE’s hold over him not been broken in time, had his hands not relaxed and his composure returned, his story might have been an echo of the young grounder’s. Their hatred for Skaikru might have been pronounced, but the boy had no inclination of how alike they really were. The shame they shared.

If he’d told him what he’d been forced to do, a member of Skaikru equally torn by his actions under the influence, would it have helped? Could it have saved whatever fractured bond they might have with the grounders? More importantly, could he even trust his own voice to recite so sensitive a memory?

He could still feel it; the sickening agony of looking down and seeing the eldest Blake sibling on the dusty throne room floor, gasping for air, his face bruised and bloody. The look in Bellamy’s eyes shone forgiveness mixed with fatigue while his own blurred with tears, appalled with himself for what he’d been forced to do. What his hands and legs and arms had done without his consent, all because of a woman in a red dress and a computer chip.

He remembered something else then, drifting back to him through the listless fog of misery. A gun pointed to Abby’s head. She’s still here, he reminded himself. Bellamy’s still here, Clarke’s still here, Octavia’s still here. There is still hope.

And hope, as he’d come to know from the woman who held his heart in her hands, her smile, her sigh, was everything.

Keep reading

Deucalion Farms (I)

Farmer!Bellamy, and yes, there’s a part II on its way.  Snaps to @reblogginhood for the name, and dedicated to the ladies who inspired this little series.


Bellamy can’t help it— he’s a farmer’s market purist.  Farmer’s markets should be for fruits, vegetables, flowers, and maybe a stand or two of honey and beeswax products.  It’s right there in the name, after all: farmer’s market.  It’s a market for farmers, and bringing in things like jewelry booths and artisan weavers just clutters everything up and brings in hipsters who claim to want farm-to-table produce but then expect him to have tomatoes six weeks after the season is over.  Octavia (if she bothered to listen to his rants anymore) would probably point out that it brings in more customers and more customers are probably a good thing, but he didn’t care.

So when the Arkadia Collective set up next to his stall, he got annoyed.  And as Miller was fond of pointing out, Annoyed Bellamy was a jackass.  Even the fact that the Collective appeared to be entirely staffed by attractive people his age did not dissuade him from being irritated at their very presence, so naturally on the first day of the season he snapped at the blonde woman who asked if he could help her manage a tent pole.  “I’m a little busy here,” he grumped, and Miller rolled his eyes and went over.

“Don’t mind him; he just hates people.  And places, and things.  He’s like the worst parts of April Ludgate and Ron Swanson combined,” Miller said and Bellamy narrowed his eyes at the lettuce in the back of his truck.  She laughed, and he he was even more annoyed to find he liked the sound, and thus began the worst summer of his life.

Her name was Clarke and she was an artist.  Which was bad enough, except she was a good artist and Octavia bought a bracelet from her and then Lincoln spent a whole morning lurking in her booth, talking to her about her process.  And look, Bellamy liked art.  It had a place in the world and he understood that meant that some people would dedicate their lives to it, but he had a knee-jerk resentment towards anything that felt like privilege.  And I want to make beautiful things felt like the sort of thing you would only choose if you hadn’t ever worried about where your next meal was coming from.

So he did his best not to be a dick to her, but mostly he failed.  “Deucalion Farms?  What does that mean?” she asked their fourth saturday, a smile that might have been teasing on her lips.

“It means what it means,” he grumbled, because Octavia already made fun of his history-nerd tendencies enough— he didn’t need her doing it too.  Clarke looked taken aback (which he did feel bad about; he was just so bad at deciding when people were genuinely interested and when they were mocking him that he usually just assumed the latter and went on offense) and after that, she never bothered to make polite conversation with him again.  Which sucked, because when she did talk to Miller or her customers, she seemed smart and funny and like the sort of person he’d like to get to know.  But he’d screwed up twice and people like him didn’t get second chances, much less third ones, so he chalked it up to a lost cause and sank deeper into his Pretty-Artist-induced funk.

It was a bright Saturday in late June when Kane stopped by his stall.  Clarke wasn’t around that day— Luna was selling her scarves from their booth instead— so he was in a marginally less grumpy mood.  The County Commissioner shook his hand with a genial smile that Bellamy returned.  “Haven’t seen you at a meeting in a while,” Kane said.  “Abby, this is Bellamy— he owns a farm down Highway 13.

Bellamy nodded to the woman next to him who bent over a basket of blackberries, her brown braid swinging forward over her shoulder.  She looked vaguely familiar, especially when she wrinkled her forehead in contemplation.  “As long as you’re not planning on widening the road anymore, I’ve got better things to do with my time,” Bellamy chuckled.  He and Kane hadn’t gotten off to the best start— Bellamy might have called him a fascist during a particularly heated meeting about the road— but he had come to admire him.  

“Maybe we’ll put it back on the agenda, if only to get you involved again,” Kane teased.  “I heard you were in asking about permits last week?”

Abby picked up a basket of berries and motioned to it with a still-uncomfortably-familiar smile.  “I was thinking of doing some renovations, yeah,” Bellamy said, accepting her cash and counting out change.  He stuffed the bills into his cash box and flipped it shut with a snap.  “Heating that house costs a fortune in the winter— I want to see if I there’s anything I can do to bring that down, but I don’t know what I can afford yet.”

Abby piped up for the first time.  “My daughter does green design— I’m sure she’d be willing to do a consultation for you, if you’d like; give you an idea of what’s possible and what it would cost.”

“That’d be great, yeah,” he said, and Abby fished around in her purse to find a business card.  Griffin Design, it said, with a logo of a tree and an email address and a phone number in tiny script at the bottom.  He curled his hand around it and slipped it into his half apron.

He’d call her tomorrow, whoever she was.

anonymous asked:

So my name is Abby too. It's not short for anything. This man though, was determined to call me Abigail. He deliberately looked at my name tag, and then called me Abigail while I was serving him. I politely told him "Actually, it's just Abby." And he was like "It's short for Abigail, though." In my fakest, cheeriest customer service voice, I said "Nope! I'm just Abby!" And he huffed an "oh". Didn't even apologize. Like, even if it was a nickname, CLEARLY Abby is my preferred name, you dickwad.

Abby is the name I’d prefer to my real one! I love your name. <3 -The other Abby

Privileged (14/?)

Originally posted by bellsqueen

Originally posted by heroineclarke

“After the battle against the Grounders, *yn* is separated from the others and is stranded in the forest alone and severely injured. Meanwhile Bellamy runs into Marcus Kane and the other survivors from the Ark and unsurprisingly the two clash.” 

Warnings: Swearing, violence, fluff, some angst 

Notes: Based on 2x01 ‘The 48′ of The 100.

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The crunching of the dead leaves underneath Bellamy’s boots mixed with his laboured breaths rung in his ears as he sprinted through the forest. A makeshift spear was gripped tightly in his hand as he ran, his eyes darting around as he desperately searched for fellow survivors and more importantly for *yn*.

He came to an abrupt halt and ducked behind a tree when he heard voices from up ahead. He began to slowly creep forward as the voices got louder and louder until he located the source of the noise.

“Monroe, Sterling.” He whispered in relief as he hurried towards them. They both jumped out of their skin when they heard his voice but were quick to relax when they recognised one of their leaders. 

“Bellamy- how are you alive?” Monroe hissed as he crouched alongside the pair.

“We knew the fire was coming so we ran but Finn and I got separated.” He explained.

“What about *yn*?” Monroe asked quietly. Bellamy’s face fell at the mention of her as he swallowed harshly in an attempt to suppress his emotions. 

“I don’t know.”   

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Calling it Hope (2/?)

Part 1 

Summary: After learning some unexpected news, Abby Griffin struggles to hold the weight of the world on her shoulders while the man she loves remains in Polis. Trying to solve the various problems related to nuclear radiation is one thing, but keeping a secret from Marcus - at least until he returns - is another. 

A.K.A. -  the babyfic no one asked for that I wrote at midnight one night and then decided to continue. 

“Abby, you need to rest.”

Jackson’s suggestion was gentle but firm, pliable but backed with steel. As a doctor she knew there was truth to be found in it, and as an expecting mother she’d need to get her rest for both her health and her child’s. It had become obvious after Jackson’s tests that she’d no longer be adhering to her former “Chancellor Griffin” hours, burning the midnight oil until only smoke remained at the rosy dawn of a new day.

Yet she couldn’t force herself out of the med bay. Not yet.

“I’m fine, Jackson,” she insisted, eyeing the datapad in her hands. But her statement wasn’t quite strong enough to dispel her companion’s concern, nor was the yawn she tried to disguise only moments later helping convince him.

Abby-“ he started, softening his tone even further, but she interrupted.

“Give me one more hour,” she said, marveling at the ludicrousness of her situation. Not only had she gotten pregnant despite her use of a contraceptive chip, but now she was arguing with her assistant, on Earth, to let her have more time in Medical. And on top of it all, they only had two months…

Her gaze trailed down to her mostly-flat stomach, and she swallowed hard, shoving the bleak thought from her head. They’d figure something out. There was still hope. And Luna’s blood had given them the beginning of an answer, a few pieces to a puzzle they had yet to fully solve.

“Fine,” Jackson said, resigned. “Doesn’t Kane usually radio you to say goodnight at midnight, though?”

Abby frowned, eyebrows drawing together as she stared at rows of black numbers against a blindingly white background. “How do you know about that?”

Jackson smiled. “Your mood improves around eleven forty-five every night, without fail. John said he heard you talking to him one morning, so I just assumed he contacts you before you go to sleep.”

“He does,” Abby said after a beat, wondering how she and Marcus could be so discreet and yet so obvious. Part of her thought that even if they could communicate telepathically, Arkadia would somehow find out about it. Their private lives were never really private.

Jackson seemed to read her mind. “Have you told him yet?”

For a moment, the room was filled with the low beeps and faint humming of machines. Abby’s tongue felt like lead in her mouth, her heart sinking lower and lower as if caught in a whirlpool.

“Not yet,” she said. “I didn’t hear from him today. If we had talked this morning, I would have asked if he knew when he was coming home.”

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Last year, it was my eldest sister. This year, it's my turn.

I didn’t have what most people would call a normal childhood, at least not by modern standards. My Mother and Father raised me and my two sisters in a very old school sort of fashion.

Children were to be seen and not heard. There was no laughing or playing. We spoke when we were spoken to, unless we were alone with each other; but even then, it was only hushed tones and hushed voices.

Our mother made our dresses on the sewing machine until she wasn’t afraid that our fingers would get caught in the threads, and then we learned to make our own. We would get beautiful cloth of all colors, except for white. When I asked for white so I could make an Easter dress, I was told that white was only for “My Day.”

I didn’t know what that meant, and she wouldn’t explain any farther.

Our Mother was also our teacher, we were taught how to read, basic arithmetic, and how to cook. She would smile when everything was perfect and say, “You will make him so happy one day.”

The one time I asked who he was, I was spanked with the wooden spoon so hard, I couldn’t sit down for two days. My eldest sister, Julie, would sneak ice while my youngest sister, Anna, would keep an eye out. If they were caught soothing or comforting me, they would suffer the same, if not worse.

Our Father had a very good job. When he would come home, our Mother would hand him a drink, take off his shoes, and give him a foot massage. He would watch the news while she served him dinner, his slippered feet propped on the ottoman. He would sometimes ask us to show him what we did for the day, be it sewing or penmanship.

One day, when I was 16, I caught my Mother in the kitchen, weeping. She was clutching her pearl necklace, her mascara running down her face, her curls not as tight as they normally were.

“Momma?” I said, timidly. She looked at me and cracked a smile.

“Abigail,” She crooned. She wrapped her arms around me, and sobbed into my shoulder. She stroked my hair, “You know, you were always my favorite, right?” I looked around, hoping none of my sisters had heard that.

That day, Father came home with a few different lengths of white cloth for my sister with a pattern for a beautiful wedding gown. Julie had just turned 18.

“It’s time you became a woman!” Father declared, “It’s time for you to be married. You have until two days to finish the dress.” Our jaws dropped. That was a short amount of time for the delicate pattern.

“Father,” Julie said, timidly, “Can Abby and Anna help me?” He looked at her for a moment.

“Of course,” Father kissed her on the cheek. This was new; he had never shown any affection to any of us before.

We got to work, taking turns on the sewing machine. Father and Mother came into the room. Mother was wearing her travelling coat, something that I don’t recall her ever doing in my entire life. She was no longer crying, but smiling despite the tears in her eyes. She was wearing her pearl necklace.

“Your Mother has to go see your Grandma back in Oregon. She’s very ill.” Father stated, “I’m taking her to the airport.” We nodded in acknowledgement, and went back to work. It wasn’t until later that I realized that my Mother had no suitcases with her.

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The phone call:

(based on the extra content by Nora Sakavic)

The phone rings at 4 am. At first, neither of them stirs. It’s starts as a muffled vibration before the first cords of Andrew’s ring tone begin to play hazily from somewhere underneath a pile of clothes.

Slowly, Neil wakes. Reluctantly, he shrugs himself out from Andrew’s arm and reaches into the cold air to search for his phone. Andrew moves, arm stretching to grab the waistband of Neil’s pants. Voice still heavy with sleep, he slurs, “Who’s that?”

Neil finds the phone, squinting against the sudden light and reads the name on the display. “It’s Abby? I’ll get it. Go back to sleep.” He flips the phone open just in time.

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