wisping

anonymous asked:

can you write a one shot about abby being comfortable napping around marcus and him taking care of her and stuff??

Ten Kisses
A Kabby Ficlet Series

Part V

Prompt: Marcus taking care of Abby (this has been sitting in my inbox since after 3x01, so thanks for your patience, anon!)

(Part I   Part II    Part III     Part IV)



Something shifts between them after that night, faint and almost imperceptible, nothing that either of them can pinpoint or name. A subtle wisp of a thing, always just out of reach, but it’s there, and it suddenly makes everything different.

It’s something, Abby finds herself thinking in maddeningly vague terms, to do with the way Marcus suddenly … takes up space.

She’s always been aware of him – even at his worst, he’s a difficult man to ignore – but there’s something new there now, a hair-trigger sensitivity to each other they can’t seem to switch off.  If he hears her across the room take a sharp deep breath, his head snaps up as if readying for another panic attack. If she’s working a shift alone in Medical after Jackson and Murphy are off for the night, he comes by to check on her or brings his tablet in with him and works from the desk in the corner.  She can feel him watching her, but it’s not like it was on the Ark.  Not a threat, but a comfort. 

Marcus sees her.

And she sees him, too.  He can feel her gaze whenever he talks to Bellamy, around whom he‘s still sometimes skittish.  Bellamy too is gentle with Marcus, reassuring, careful.  The bruises are almost faded, you have to look carefully, and Bellamy puts his jacket on before coming into the Chancellor’s office, which hides everything but the faint mark of one thumb beneath his Adam’s apple.  But every once in awhile, Marcus will make a sudden movement - say, to catch a glass of water that’s about to tip over - and Bellamy’s whole body will flinch and tighten like a spooked horse preparing to bolt, and then the weight of a crushing sadness will descend onto Marcus’ shoulders, causing his whole body to sink beneath its weight.  They stare at each other in silence, desperate mute apology contorting both their faces - Kane for the bruise he now can’t ignore, Bellamy for reminding him of it - until Abby steps in.  He doesn’t see the bruise if Abby’s hand is resting on his arm, if her knee bumps lightly against his own under the table.  If he loses his train of thought, her touch steadies him and brings him back to himself.  Bellamy never says anything about it - never gives any indication that he even sees - but she observes him saving his visits to the Chancellor’s office for when he knows that Abby is there too.

There’s an intimacy between them that never existed before, and everyone around them can see it.  They’re attuned to each other in some peculiar new way that can only come from sharing a bed with somebody.

He comes to her every night, after that first one. He always knocks, polite, almost formal.  He never presumes.  They’re shy with each other, hesitant and a little fumbling, up until the moment when Marcus wraps his arms around Abby’s waist and her back melts into his strong, comforting chest and then it’s as though they’ve been doing this all their lives.

Marcus snores, but just a little, and after a few days Abby can’t remember how she ever fell asleep without it, that warm dry whuffling of breath against her hair, like the happy panting of a big friendly dog.  She herself tends to fidget in her sleep, tugging the covers away and leaving Marcus chilled, but he learns that if he runs his hands up and down her arms, it soothes her into stillness again.

They adjust.

The line is there between them, and they don’t cross it for now, but they’re aware of it – when Marcus wakes to find his hand resting high on Abby’s chest with the tip of one finger just brushing the plush softness of her breast, or when Abby stirs in her sleep and feels a hard heavy weight swelling gently against her thigh. But neither of them is ready, just yet, to dive off that particular cliff.  There’s too much gravity between them; once they left themselves fall, they’d never stop falling.  It’s all still too much, too soon.

So for now, it’s this: comfortable nights of warm arms and easy slumber, all the ghosts chased just far enough away that they can sleep.  It’s Marcus bringing her food when she works through meal hours and wildflowers in tin cups to brighten her room.  It’s Abby doing her equipment inventory on the couch in the Chancellor’s office when she can sense that Marcus needs company.

Marcus doesn’t tell Abby about the recurring nightmare that only her small warm body in his arms has been able to chase away – the one where it’s her who stays behind to pull the lever as the stations crash down to Earth, trapped and alone on a dying Ark where he’ll never see her face again.

And Abby doesn’t tell Marcus about how the panic attacks really started.


The guards didn’t come for Clarke until twenty-four hours (to the minute) after Jake was floated.  Abby hadn’t even known about the charges.  No one ever told her why Clarke was given a day’s reprieve, but she put the pieces together anyway.

It was Wells.

Thelonious had intended to give Clarke and Abby an hour together after they came home from the airlock before sending Shumway for her, but Wells had apparently (according to one of Abby’s patients a few months later, who lived down the hall from the Jahas and made loud chatty conversation while Abby administered her vaccine) “lost his shit.”  Brooking no argument, he demanded that his father, out of the bare minimum of human decency, for the sake of the decades of friendship the Griffins had shown to them, allow Abby to grieve her husband and Clarke her father together, just for one day, before forcibly separating them for what might be the last time.  

Maybe it was because Wells, all things considered, really asked his father for very little (never was a Chancellor’s child less entitled).  Maybe it was out of compassion for the Griffins.  Maybe he simply wanted to avoid a fight.  But whatever the reason, Thelonious did it.

That first night - which they had no idea was also the last - Clarke slept in her parents’ bed next to Abby, their arms curled tightly around each other.  They did not cry.  There were no tears left, just a blank hollow gray void swallowing them both up from the inside out.  They simply held each other and tried to remember how to breathe.

The nightmare seized Abby as she began to drift off to sleep, and she suddenly felt all the air drain from her lungs as though it had been herself in that airlock, herself pulled backwards into the unrelenting void of space, herself dying a choking airless death.  She had never dreamed anything so real.  She didn’t realize she was gasping and shaking until she felt a panicked, teary Clarke wrap her in her arms whispering “Mom! Mom, please, you have to wake up” over and over again.

The attacks came almost nightly while Clarke was in the Sky Box. It was having too much time to think, and too much solitude.  It sent her mind spiraling into dark and ugly places. But she’d had surprisingly few of them since the Ark hit the ground.  Something to do with keeping busy, she suspected, with being surrounded by people, with having a purpose; she couldn’t afford to fall apart while they were still hunting for the missing kids, or at war with Mount Weather.  

And then after that, there had been Marcus.

The shadows receded – not completely, but enough to let her breathe – when Marcus was there.

She does not tell him this.  

But she thinks, perhaps, he understands anyway.


The night it happens, they’re working late in the Chancellor’s office.  

Marcus is at his desk, going over the evacuation plan for the Grounder villages surrounding Arkadia.  Clarke returned four days ago from Polis with Commander Luna and King Roan to meet with the Skaikru Council and devise a plan for long-term relocation to the ninety-six-square mile patch of territory in the middle of Azgeda that Raven’s computer model has determined will remain untouched by the coming disaster - far enough in all directions from any of the failing nuclear plants to retain clean water and arable land.

Marcus has been up late every night this week staring at maps of soil patterns and water tables.  Abby, for her part, is working with Nyko on preserving as many of the area’s medicinal plants and herbs as they can harvest in six months, and is poring over a nineteenth-century medical almanac downloaded from Mount Weather to make sure they haven’t missed anything.

Both of them are exhausted to the point of delirium, but focusing on concrete manageable tasks – “draw a map,” “make a list of plants” – helps take their mind of the ticking six-month clock hanging over their heads every day.

Marcus sees Abby, who is sitting with her feet up on the couch, begin to fade a little.  The tablet in her hand slips out and thuds gently onto the floor as her head lolls back against the soft upholstered back.  She’s so tired.  She can hardly keep her eyes open.

“Time for bed?” she hears Marcus ask dryly, but she shakes her head, snuggling down further against the couch cushions.  The thought of standing up and walking all the way through camp to her quarters and undressing for bed exhausts her even to consider it. He chuckles a little, and she’s soothed into a pleasant half-sleep by the sound of his fingers tapping on the screen of his tablet, the scratching of a pencil on Roan’s map spread out across his desk, and his warm, steady breathing.

She could live in this moment forever, she thinks.  Just now, the crisis at their doorstep feels very far away.  Just now, she feels nothing but peace.

A blissful drowsiness overtakes her limbs, pulling her down little by little into a dark sea, and just as she feels the surface begin to close over her head, consuming her completely in a deep sweet sleep, she hears him say her name.

“Abby,” he murmurs in a voice so low she can barely hear him, “are you asleep?”

She isn’t, not really.  She’s only mostly asleep.  But her eyes are too heavy to open and her limbs are too heavy to move and she can’t quite remember how words are formed in her mouth, so all she can do is sigh a little and let her head sink back further against the back of the couch.

He calls out to her again, closer this time, and she feels a shifting.  He’s lifted her away from the corner of the couch to sit down beside her, pulling her into his lap.  Still liquid and boneless inside that place between sleeping and waking, she yields completely as he resettles her in his arms, her legs stretched out along the sofa cushions and her head pillowed against his chest as he strokes her hair.

She likes this much better, and wants to tell him so, but again, she’s too tired for words or movement, so she simply melts into him and begins to drift off again.

“Abby?” he tries again, after a long silence, but she’s floating away and it’s too late for him to catch her. 

“Okay,” she hears him say, with a curious throb in his voice.  “Maybe it’s better this way.  Maybe this is easier.”

Something in his voice arrests her, tugging her back abruptly as she drifts away, like a ship dropping anchor.  The fog begins to recede.  

“I didn’t know what this was,” he murmurs, his voice heavy with some strange emotion, and suddenly she’s wide awake.  

She forces her breath back down to the slow pace of sleep and presses her eyes closed, heart pounding inside her like a military drum, thumping so violently she’s half terrified he’ll feel it and know.  But she can’t move now.  She can’t speak, now.  She has to hear what he’s going to say.  

“I didn’t know what it was,” he says again in a low voice, brushing a strand of hair from her face.  “I swear to God, Abby, I didn’t know.  From the moment we came to Earth, I knew I couldn’t live without you but I didn’t know why.”  

His hand drifts down to the place where her right arm is draped over her hip, and he strokes the soft white skin of her forearm.  “You tried to say … something …  to me, that day.  But I thought it would just make everything harder, if that was how it all ended.  And then I kissed you, before I left on a suicide mission.  Without knowing if I’d ever see you again.  And then I found you in Polis, but ALIE had gotten there first.  And now we only have six months until the world ends.”  He laughs a little, but there’s more melancholy in it than mirth.  “Six months,” he says again, sadly.  “We never had good timing.”  He leans down to rest his head against hers.  “But I think I’m in love with you,” he murmurs, in a voice pulsing with tenderness and wonder.  “I think that’s what this is.  Because everything’s different now.”  

His hand slides up the side of her body and for one thrilling, shocked moment she thinks he’s going to caress her breasts while she sleeps – an almost incomprehensible thing for Marcus Kane to do – but no, his hand brushes past them, his touch light and respectful, and lands instead on her ring.

“I’ll never ask you for anything that rightfully should still belong to him,” he murmurs into her hair, and Abby presses her eyes closed tight, suddenly terrified the tears she’s struggling to hold back will give her away.  “I’ll never ask you for that.  I just thought … “  He stops for a moment, turning Jake’s ring on its chain over and over in his hand.  “It’s the kind of thing a person should say, I think,” he says haltingly.  “Not for you to say it back.  Not if that isn’t – what this is.  For you.  But just so I know I’ve said it.”

Abby can’t breathe.

He lets go of the ring and pulls her close, cradling her body against his chest.  “Whether it’s six months or fifty more years,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss against her forehead.  “You’re the last woman I’ll ever love, either way.  But I couldn’t let the world end without saying it.”

He reaches over her and switches off the lamp beside them, leans back against the sofa, and in minutes he’s sound asleep, arms holding Abby tight against his chest.

She feels the rise and fall of his chest and the thump of his heart beneath her cheek begin to slow and soften, and only then – once she knows he’s asleep – does she let the stinging hot tears cascade silently down her face.

Saturn - Sleeping At Last // Holocene - Bon Iver // Nuvole Bianche - Ludovico Einaudi // The Wisp Sings - Winter Aid // Looking For You Again - Matthew Perryman Jones // Hey That’s No Way To Say Goodbye - Phosphorescent // Without a Word - Birdy // Song for Sienna - Brian Cain // The Sounds of Silence - Simon & Garfunkel

askwrathspiderman  asked:

As Spider is walking around in the Undertale world he is constantly looking around and darting in and out of shadows. His spider sense is warning him of a very dangerous enemy Wisp. He hasn't dare gone near Arach's home incase the Spider Wasp finds out about him.

*Wisp has been watching him for a while, now. She doesn’t know about Muffet and certainly not Arach. She wants to see what makes him tick and then inevitably kill him. That’s fun, right?*

“If you had a chance to change your fate, would you?” Merida is finally finished!! 🤓👍🏼 To be honest, I have put aside this girl for SO long, just because she was never a favorite of mine but after finally watching Brave for the first time a year or so ago, I have a whole new appreciation for her ❤️ Hope she was worth the wait!! 🤓 #brave #merida #disney #fanart #disneyart #wip #prismacolor #prismacolorpencils #strathmore #tonedgray #wisps

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