#waratlas

she  can’t  lose  him.    she’s  lost  so  many  people,    watched  bodies  collapse  and  flames  extinguish  without  sparing  time  for  tears   -----    but  she  can’t  survive  losing  him.    echo  clutches  at  his  hand  in  hers,    her  heart  jumping  in  her  chest  every  time  his  eyes  close.    no,  no,  no,   not  after  everything  they’ve  been  through  together.    snapping  a  quick  hurry!  at  madi,    echo  reaches  with  her  free  hand  to  push  bellamy’s  messy  curls  from  his  forehead.   ‘   stay  with  me,    ’    she  murmurs,   thumb  brushing  along  his  skin  as  she  fights  to  keep  her  voice  steady.    ‘   come  on,   bellamy.    you  can  do  this.    open  your  eyes.    ’

Bellamy Blake doesn’t look to himself all that often. She wonders if there’s some kind of complex behind that, the avoidance of mirrors, of the way that he’s allowed facial hair to creep in and overtake EVERYTHING, though it doesn’t take a leap for Toni to know it has to do with the fact that he’s always looking out for calls into space, for a voice of a girl who’s maybe dead, maybe not. It’s hard to tell from way up here, it’s hard to know anything, really, until the world comes crashing down all over again, and Earth is there to receive them readily.

It’s hard to watch him as Octavia devolves - or maybe that’s always been a work in progress, one that they could never stop, even if they poured all their hopes and dreams into it. O’s had to DO THINGS that they couldn’t have done, even if they’d the stomach for it. It’s wildness and horror, all rolled into one, and watching him from behind, the bend of his spine, Toni knows he’s gonna take that on too, just another piece of sadness to weigh his shoulders until they break, a straw upon the camel’s back.

WITH HER BROWS FURROWED IN CONCENTRATION, clarke runs her brush over bellamy’s chest. she’d chosen her thinnest brush for this because she wanted— needed to make the stars as detailed as possible (because she obviously was painting eight-point stars and not simple dots that could just pass by some of his freckles ). so far, she’d painted ursa major on his right collarbone and the minor on the left, but she still had to decide where cassiopeia and andromeda would go and actually paint them. it was a long process and her back was starting to hurt from being in such a weird position, but she wasn’t about to complain. who knows when bellamy will let her do this again ? she needs to make the most of it. ❝ got any requests ? ❞ clarke asks as she touches up one of the points of a star on ursa major. ❝ not to brag or anything, but i've become an expert in constellations over the past twenty-four hours. ❞ she chuckles as she glances up to meet his eyes. ❝ google will vouch for that. ❞

           he knows jordan did what was asked of him , knows that his words still echo in the man’s ears ( may we meet again ). so maybe it’s less for bellamy’s sake , that monty waits now. the rings looks as it did a hundred and twenty-five years ago , unchanged except for the translucent flickers -- a byproduct of this phantom simulation. for as long as monty’s life was , those six years on the ring always felt the most like home. so he sits here now , at a table he shared with one of the families he’s missed most , and wonders what’s left to be said; so he starts with something simple.

          “ hey , bellamy. ”

‘   A  LOT  CAN  CHANGE  IN  SIX  YEARS,    ’   she  murmurs,   the  corners  of  her  own  lips  quirking  with  a  smile.  they’re  bittersweet,  these  moments  spent  training  /  sparring  with  him:  so  entirely  reminiscent  of  the  long  days  on  the  ship,  of  the  hours  they  spent  seeking  forgiveness  and  falling  in  love,  but  also  tainted  by  the  dull  ache  of  grief  ----  their  family,  no  longer  whole.  serves  as  a  constant  reminder  that  any  of  them  can  be  taken  at  any  time,  that  these  hours  together  are  transient  at  best.  will  their  new  home  be  as  riddled  with  warfare  as  their  last?  reaching  up,  echo  curves  her  hand  against  his  jaw  and  draws  him  close  for  a  quick,  stolen  kiss.  how  many  more  of  those  will  she  be  granted?  ‘   still  not  as  good  as  me,  though.    ’