I WANT TO COME FIRST.

you're going to die in your best friend's arms, and you play along because it's funny, because it's written down, you've memorized it. it's all you know.

[tocomefirst]

this is an independent, headcanon reliant rosemarie "rose" hathaway of the vampire academy series. no movie influences. largely developed hand in hand with laura @outlivespast‘s christian ozera and based off of the world building she and i have done. mature themes present. explored by tiffany. 

ask,  guidelines,  dossier,  headcanons,  exclusives,  meme tag,  lore cheat-sheet (to be added),  verses (to be added).

[tocomefirst]

lingeringscars​:

it hadn’t even been twenty-four hours, yet somehow this restless night felt harder than all the others. they were partners first, and he knows that he has forgotten that when drowning in his own memories. he meant what he said about still trusting and believing her, but it still felt like it had changed things between them. so much so that he doesn’t know if she’ll be where his feet automatically take him. maybe it’s the lack of sleep that makes him bold enough to consider knocking at christian’s door. bellamy is guided by his heart, always has been, but there’s the nagging part that says he needs to let rose come to him. he disappeared to the lake the previous night; she could have her own coping mechanisms, though that would indicate she cared enough about the fracture in their relationship. 

instead he pulls himself out of bed, throwing on whatever tee shirt he had lying around before making his way to…their? spot. he doesn’t think he’s earned the right to call it that anymore; he doesn’t know if it ever was to begin with, but it’s where she’d go to find him and where he’d be waiting with a donut if she showed up, hopefully more rested than him.

he thinks about making a bee-line for the door, not wanting to be stopped for mindless guardian conversation or an update on their next trip with lissa. before he can put his head down, however, he spots a familiar head of hair. she was already here. before he can stop himself, he starts in her direction, looking over her matching disheveled appearance and giving a small smile when she says hi. his expression is crestfallen when he’s reminded of the distance between them and how it’s his fault. “i’m so sorry.” he doesn’t have the words to explain just how sorry he was. he chooses to deflect instead, commenting on the one thing he knows they have in common currently. “you look like hell.” he smirks, brushing his fingers under her right eye. maybe, just maybe, he’ll allow himself to think her night felt just as off as his own. 

rose has spent enough time being thrust into new and unforgiving schedules that she couldn’t say for sure if she’s an early riser by nature or just maladaptive to what might be considered normal sleeping habits; it’s not as if the idea of sleeping in on her day off doesn’t sound glorious, especially coming off of shift a week long, but her body seems trained to wake up every few hours even when it has no cause to, and there’s only so many times she can repeat that cycle before the restlessness sets in. 

last night, the anxiousness started before she could even humor the idea of sleep. fear she’d wake christian and laurel was about all that kept her from moving through the house in search of a task to distract her - vacuuming was a thought, christian hates doing that anyway, but obviously that was out, and while the briefly considered getting back up to tackle the dishes they’d left to soak, she was almost convinced christian’s kitchen senses would start to tingle and he’d get back up to make sure she didn’t put the salad spinner back in the wrong place. instead she lied there for as long as she could after attempting briefly to get into a animal behavior textbook that ended up on the floor with a light thud approximately five seconds later, finding herself immensely relieved by the sunset starting to peak through her window. still early, way, way too early, but not so that she felt like she couldn’t get her hands dirty as far as the sink full of dishes was concerned.

she tried very hard not to think about how relieved she was when she found the note at dimitri’s letting her know he’d been called into work as her fingers worked the sponge over the plates. they were sparkling clean when she finished, but she’s not sure she can say the same for herself. 

maybe she needs it, the admission that he was wrong, that he didn’t think all the things it seemed like he thought, that she didn’t lose one of the only people from court that took the time to see her as... her, past and history be damned (from court. it doesn’t seem right, thinking this. it’s just the logical way to distinguish bellamy from lissa and christian and everyone else she loves that came with her from vlad’s, but when she thinks about why last night hurt so much, it’s that bellamy isn’t really from court at all. he isn’t court, isn’t a part of the framework of lies and backstabbing and politics and slander, is so much more than the war they’re fighting and the pain that comes along with it. for the longest time, she and bellamy have felt cut from the same cloth. bellamy isn’t court; maybe part of why last night cut her the way it did is because he suddenly looked at her like she was. and so maybe she needs that apology, the one her brows are gently furrowing at because of how abrupt it seems, but she doesn’t know that she wants it. mostly, she just wants them to feel normal again, and finds the reminder of how distant he seems painful. maybe she just wants the little smile he gives her that makes him seem not so far away at all. 

the brush of his fingers on her cheek that she can’t help but lean into, however vulnerable the look they elicit is when it connects with his own gaze. it’s a tender kind of vulnerable, the intimate kind that makes her voice inexplicably gentle when she shoots back, “so do you,” even though she’s mimicked his teasing, instantly finding relief in the familiarity of it. 

[tocomefirst]

it would be less embarrassing if it were automatic - just simple instinct, muscle memory, her mouth forming around the words before her brain reminds her why they no longer make sense. but that would have to mean that she’s stopped thinking about him at least once this morning (in the hours since they walked away from each other, if she’s being honest), and the heartbreaking expression she last saw on his features is all she can think about as she stands in line at the café, as she places an order for two muffins instead of one. if she was capable of caring about her pride right now, she’d blame it on how distracted she is, but she’s too exhausted and too full of sorrow to waste any more energy on it. only the very faint hope that he might appear makes it through, that and the distant consolation that she can drop it off in his locker in the guardians’ lounge when he doesn’t. it’s his favorite, after all. as she looks at it out of the corner of her eye while picking at her own muffin, she thinks about the ease with which she’d teased him about that - the blandness of the muffin, far milder than her chocolate one. it’s hard to reconcile how warm and effortless their conversations usually seem with the sharp edges of what had taken place last night. the comparison hurts, taking her attention away from both the muffin and the morning chill leaving goose bumps on her arms. 

only the sight of him draws her eyes away, filling her with immediate relief. soon after, conflict ensues as she grapples with the urge to go over to him and the fear he might turn away, but it eases as she watches him walk toward her, that same relief filling her features.  “hey,” rose greets softly with a tentative smile, unsure of whether to jump right into their usual chatting or if the horrible distance between them from the night before will have carried over to the morning. / @lingeringscars.

[tocomefirst]

lingeringscars​:

the fear seems nonsensical; teachings from his mother return to him. he knows he should be pushing this feeling away, but there’s something worse than fear, and that’s the idea that he didn’t do everything in his power to fight for this, for them. for their story, the one that he wants and dreams about. he can’t and won’t fight another losing battle, though, and so he’s left with a hollow feeling where his passion would usually reside. it’s simply the first time begging for reassurance, truth, hope felt possible. the space they’ve curated meant he felt secure enough to voice his fears, even if until today they seemed to ridiculous to even have. rose loved him; rose was in love with him. he trusts her more than anyone in the world, so why is he allowing the universe’s supposed truth plant seeds of doubt? is he truly that incapable of allowing an iota of happiness?

if he was willing to go up against his own sister for this, the universe better prepare. the only person he isn’t willing to fight would be rosemarie. she has the option to walk away if that’s what her heart desires, and there’d be nothing he could do to stand in her way because he’s in love with her. her happiness is the most important thing in the world to him, but if it’s a struggle to be with him like he’s so certain it was with the man in question, then she needs to walk. he won’t be the reason she’s miserable again. ( so why is he suddenly doubting the knowledge he’s based years of their friendship on. dimitri isn’t the person who makes her happy, yet he stays paralyzed at the idea she’s waiting for him to heal from being strigoi enough for them to return to each other ). tears prick at his eyes as she struggles to find the words. he finally turns to look at her in that moment, not trying to wipe at them and instead laying himself bare for her to see. if anyone is going to have a reaction, it’d be her. he tries to tell himself that if she does it isn’t just because he heart guides her to help anyone in pain, and instead something specific to him and her love of him. 

a slight shrug and a nod at the conclusion she comes to, though not completely what he meant. if the reason she broke up with adrian was because she wasn’t that for him, it must have meant dimitri was that for her, and suddenly he can’t trust his own judgment of their relationship if that was the basis for it. “i was asking…” he struggles to even say the words because her answer could doom them. “if you think..” he looks away from her again, blinking as his vision grows blurrier, trying to steady his voice. “you and dimitri are meant to be.” the doubt continues to grow as he thinks about how sure adrian was in the comments, how certain this would be their demise. “because i can’t… i can’t just be a stop on the way to your soulmate.” what a stupid word. he can’t believe he’s even using it, but in a world of vampires and magic, is it really that far a stretch to believe that souls are matched? he feels it every day with rose; that she understands him better than anyone in the universe. what it boils down to is does she feel it too? 

it's almost comical, how immediately she reacts to the first glimpse of tears - goes from utterly frozen to practically ripping off her seatbelt to get to him, clumsy as the transfer of limbs from her seat to his may be. the sight of tears snaps her out of the paralysis with impressive speed, sending her crawling to the edge of his seat with incredible urgency. it’s both a lack of courage and gracefulness that makes her reluctant to fully crawl into his lap; fear that she may not be welcome there and fear that she may be too rattled to accomplish the task without fumbling and awkwardness that might cause him harm or make him feel claustrophobic or trapped or both. there’s always been a degree of instinct involved; even when the act itself was new and unprecedented, their bodies have always worked in tandem, moments where they’ve depended on the other’s strength or balance fluid and natural. but she’s all desperation now, and bellamy has no steadiness to lend her; there’s something in her that recognizes this, is distantly familiar with what it looks like when both of them are scared and clinging to one another, but she can’t escape the fear that bellamy might not catch her, that his hands won’t land on either side of her waist as her legs go around him to keep her from losing her balance. it’s him she fears will get hurt in the process, but there’s a little part of her that knows what it means for bellamy to love someone that wouldn’t know what to do if he didn’t move to shield her head from colliding with the roof of the car, just as she knows love for her wouldn’t need to have anything to do with it. she tells herself it would, though. she has to believe it would.

something, perhaps his own tears, breaks the tears she’d been fighting to blink away loose without so much as attracting a fraction of attention as she moves to gently brush his away, utterly overcome with emotion as her heart breaks a little more with each passing second. “hey, hey.” it’s so soft and intimate that anyone without dhampir hearing would miss it, cracking as another follows, this time a plea, “hey. what is going on? talk to me, please.” begging now, for a return to something more normal, innately more them, because this is unbearable. and perhaps that in of itself is indicative of how deeply she loves him - there was a time in her life where she would have thought there was nothing worse than silence, but there is truly nothing worse than seeing bellamy in pain without knowing why, without being able to help. she would take years of quiet just to take that pain away. it’s a testament to how much time she’s spent with no other resort than bargaining that a part of her is always convinced she can’t have both. but bellamy has never been one to make her beg, and there’s both relief and perpetual surprise in that, though soon eclipsed by an answer that cuts deeper than she can admit. you think i’m going to cheat on you? she needs to ask, but she’s certain her voice would crack if she did, and maybe asking at all is asking for a denial she knows isn’t plausible and is certain she doesn’t deserve. ultimately it’s too many words anyway, and all she can get out is a broken, “w-what?” and then a “n-no, no, no,” which she knows isn’t an explanation, isn’t enough, but seems to be all that can manage.

she can’t explain like this, though. can’t focus on holding her weight up so as not to trap him in the seat or slip backward into the gear shift and putting her thoughts together and blinking the blurriness away. maybe on a better day, but this one has left her exhausted and raw and desperate, and so she has to ask for something. has to listen to the promise bellamy made her once that she would never be too much and trust that her body weight isn’t either even when she’s afraid he’ll slip away beneath it. so she relaxes, trusts him to bear the weight of her as her hands briefly rest on his chest, tentative but in desperate need of the familiarity of the fabric and more importantly, the heartbeat underneath.  “just- just stay with me for a second, okay?” she finds herself asking in a shaky voice, needing him to give her time to explain, the memory of dimitri and adrian walking away before she could find the right words etched into her memory.  “no. no- no i don’t think that. of course i don’t think that. no. never. not even for a second.” it doesn’t feel like enough, though, feels like something she has to prove, and her gaze falls to her hands as she tries to explain, overcome with how empty and wrong and useless they feel without his to latch onto. the comfort and steadiness and focus she derives from playing with his she can’t accomplish alone, and so their only purpose is to remind her of what she’s done. “when i.. when dimitri and i.. when i slept with him.. it.. it was right after victor.” her fingers run over her arms again, tracing scars long since healed away. “i…i was a wreck. sonya had to compel me just to get me out of the parking lot. and then.. we were talking after. he was trying to help me clean up and.. you know, get through it. and then he… he told me he loved me.” 

maybe more details than bellamy wants, but she doesn’t know how else to do it but to go through the whole thing, and she has to hope he still wants to know everything, that today didn’t make him wish there were things he didn’t. “and… for the first time since he was turned back… he felt like… he felt like the person i knew. the person i.. loved.” swallowing, “when i told adrian we could try… i thought i.. i thought i’d killed him. i thought he was gone forever. and then.. he wasn’t.” he was alive. he was a monster. he was alive. “i felt like a monster. i… i’d killed someone, but maybe…maybe i’d..” it sounds so stupid she almost can’t bear to say it. “i think i.. i tried to convince myself that.. that maybe i’d saved him. i.. needed to believe that. and i think… what he did, as a strigoi… the.. the guilt. maybe i felt like.. he.. understood. like that.. bonded us somehow.” it’s more than that, but how can she say they were bonded by the trauma neither of them could say and no one else could share, the trauma of what they’d inflicted on each other? how can she even think it? how twisted is that? her voice shakes a little from the shame of what she's about to admit, "and maybe.. it was easier, after.. to believe that. that we were meant to be. it didn't.. it didn't make what i did to adrian any less.. " unforgivable. "horrible, i know that. but.."  it's more than that, though - more than assuaging her guilt with the justification that she and dimitri were meant to be. "if it.. if it.. if it was meant to be… it wasn't this.. everything in my life.. victor.. was.. horrible and out of control. if it was meant to be.. maybe that didn't have to be. and that’s.. that’s probably worse, i get that," she wipes at her eyes, too exhausted to wonder if having impulsive, out of control sex with dimitri is somehow more forgivable than making a choice, “but i needed...” god, she needed to be in control of something. needed something to be her choice. 

but what about the universe ever suggested she was in control, anyway? why was that somehow preferable to the alternative? 

why did it take three years to start to feel in control again? 

she finally finds the courage to look up at him, blinking away tears. “i understand if you're.. if you're mad at me and.. you can't trust me right now, but dimitri.. he's not .. he's not my soulmate. we're not.. we're not meant to be. we're not.. anything.  you're.. you're the person i want to be with. you're the person i want to be with for the rest of my life. and i know that when.. things are crazy and when they're perfect. and when they're perfect… it's because i'm with you. you're the person that makes me want to be better,” overcome with emotion, she takes his hands before the fear can halt the movement, “that helps me.. helps me do something like this even though it sucks because it's the right thing to do. the person that understands me better than anyone. who makes me feel.. steady and.. and in control. you’re not... you’re not a stop.” she still winces a little bit at the phrasing, “you’re my.. finish line. you’re my.. my home, you know?” the person who, more than anyone, would believe her - believe her if every other person in the world thought she was lying, if no one person ever suggested she might be telling the truth.  “please believe me.”

[tocomefirst]

while rose’s hair tends to fall in loose waves rather than true curls, there is some natural curl to it that can be enhanced by certain products and methods of hair care. though the weight of her hair usually loosens any distinct curls that form when her hair is wet, moisture can result in some additional curl in her hair. if she diffuses her hair, that natural curl comes through quite nicely. it’s not something she typically has the time or energy to put effort into, but she does enjoy her curls when they shine through or she’s able to enhance them. 

they remind her a lot of her mother’s curly hair, and though she’s unlikely to admit it, it’s nice to have something that ties them together appearance wise since she more closely resembles her father, inheriting her skin, eye, and hair coloring from him. having spent her entire life aspiring to feel closer to her mother and longing for her, she likes looking in the mirror and seeing that little piece of janine once they begin to build a healthier, closer relationship. 

the same can be said for characteristics of janine’s once they’re in a better place; she looks up to janine a lot and feels proud of the parts of herself she’s gotten from her rather than uncomfortable and/or ashamed of the traits she’s inherited from abe (speaking in a strictly emotional sense now; she doesn’t regret any of her physical traits, but she generally doesn’t like having her personality compared to abe’s.) 

[tocomefirst]

outlivespast​:

there was a part of him certain he lost rose the same day he lost octavia. it’s stupid to think about that day as losing octavia as if he ever had her. she wasn’t any more in his life as mia these days, and even less than eddie, who lived a world away. it felt that way, though, like whatever chance of reconcile went out the window when she did. the lines were drawn on the floor, and he thinks he could see them if he squinted at the churches steps. bellamy was never present, not that he was before this happened, but now the emotional distance was prominent whenever he walked into a room with him and tasha. at least before they were amicable if awkward; now it’s like if they came within six feet of each other some unknown force would come and knock them back. 

he was certain he lost rose because her new family became fractured that day, too. bellamy needed her far more than he did, after all. no one could ever doubt bellamy’s devotion to or love of octavia, except, maybe, octavia. it’s a delicate topic of conversation, regardless, evidenced by the rigidity of his back. usually, he’d be hunched over the stove, but now he stands at a distance as he ponders her words. “she didn’t hate you.” the words surprise him because the truth is that he doesn’t know who octavia is anymore, but they were similar as children so it’s something he feels he can understand regardless. 

“she just came home and found you there, right?” he can imagine how that could cause a rift, see how it would look like bellamy was living two separate lives. he was, of course, just not the way octavia could have predicted. “she was the most important person in his world. she comes home from college. there’s a stranger in her home.” it wasn’t a meeting that would go over well for the most compassionate and understanding person in the world, let alone octavia blake. “you weren’t an intruder, but it makes sense she’d think that.” there’s also the fact that very little time passed between her and dimitri breaking up and her and bellamy living together, but he doesn’t question that. hell, he was half urging rose to get with bellamy before she and dimitri even broke up. 

the truth is, he doesn’t blame octavia for her reaction. the rest of them handled tasha being alive with more grace than anyone should, but they were used to the unpredictable. octavia, to his knowledge, had normal teenage problems to deal with. “she might now.” he doesn’t know why it’s called the blunted edge of a knife when his own blunt words are sharp. they’re biting, and he can’t take it back once it comes out, but he doesn’t want to either. rose might need to embrace and confront the fact that octavia might hate them all. and that they might deserve it. 

most days he thinks tasha might. not the ire from octavia but from bellamy. she interfered in the life of someone that she had no right to anymore, went behind bellamy’s back to reveal a secret that he was clearly keeping for this very reason. tasha and octavia hadn’t interacted since before the attack. how else could this have gone down? “have you talked to bellamy about this.” he finally asks. he lingers in the conversation without either of them addressing him, and he knows rose well enough to know that she won’t talk about him for fear of setting him off. maybe it would, if she tried to appeal on his behalf, but general conversation… he has enough to deal with without closing up around the name of whatever bellamy was to him. “you’ve never seen her like this before…but maybe he has.” he does hope not, for bellamy’s sake. lips quirk up when she asks about him because “pissed off.” sums it up. he’s scared; he’s scared octavia won’t come back, that when they do find her again it’ll be what tasha tried to prevent, that bellamy won’t speak to either ozera again, that rose will crumble under the strain of trying to keep them all together, about ryan, too. “i’m sick of having to choose.” in the darkest corners of his mind…he’s maybe just tired of having to choose tasha. “you?” 

it would have been easy to slip back into old patterns - crying in closets and lonely corners and choking back her fear, but rose doesn’t fight the tears that spark when christian says octavia may hate her, however tempting it might be to turn away before he could see. knowing what bellamy was going through because of his separation with octavia made her own grief seem small, burdensome, but she knows the last thing he wants is for her to shove it down, how afraid he is of her swallowing herself in an attempt to take care of him, so she’s refused her mind’s every attempt to build a wall around it as if it would spare him pain. the idea of leaning on christian when he’s got his own problems to deal with isn’t much easier, but pretending to have it all together has never brought them closer; if anything, all it’s done has drive them apart. 

and though christian may not admit it, she doesn’t think what they’re feeling is so different: they’re both aching over the divides within their family, both missing people who feel out of reach, both afraid of what the future will bring. 

so she lets a couple tears fall as she confronts the reality that octavia hates her - not as a result of fear of losing bellamy or watching him be hurt or court rumors, but because from the moment rose met her she’s been lying to her. has been a part of a lie that, as far as octavia knows, may very well have started with her - and considering the role she’d played in tasha’s execution, rose isn’t sure she would be wrong. as terrified as she is of their enemies and the threat they pose, something about the fear she feels almost feels easier than the look octavia had in her eyes when they’d run into each other at the apartment. almost... routine. not so unlike the terror she’s felt before. while she’s far from immune, it feels easier to manage; she knows what to do with it most of the time, how to put it away securely enough to allow her to get through the day. 

but octavia’s hurt and betrayal and anger... it feels like rose could face it every day for a thousand years and still have no idea how to stomach the grief. it seems easier to focus on what christian said leading up to it, but that brings its own unanticipated rush of tears to the surface. 

“we were dancing,” rose says quietly, ambushed by a little sniffle she tries and fails to disguise as a laugh. “when octavia came home. i was there waiting for bellamy to get home and was making a sandwich or something and had my headphones in and was jamming out to some stupid song and he walked in and.. he danced with me. she walked in and his arms were around me and.. we were dancing. we were happy." for a beautiful moment she forgets everything around her as she's consumed by the memory, captured by the brightness of bellamy's smile and sensation of his arms around her. the return to christian's kitchen - or perhaps more accurately, to their current circumstances - is a harsh and biting thing. “i don’t know if... she’d ever seen him like that. not.. not happy, but.. i don’t know, free. as.. a person. as his own person, and not...”   a brother. a parent. and maybe after everything, rose is wise enough to see all of those things may have been a part of octavia’s reaction.  “all i could think about when she walked in was that it wasn't supposed to happen like that and i'd screwed up my chance to make a good impression, but … he was happy. and that...”

in hindsight, what could possibly be more important than that?

“sorry,” rose finishes with a rough wipe of her eyes, “i know you don't want to hear this.”  there's almost something comforting about the familiarity of the apology - about the realization that christian probably doesn't want to hear about her dancing in the kitchen with her boyfriend, purely because of the simple, garden variety awkwardness of it. it's so much better than the fear that she's going to cross an invisible line and destroy the peace between them, so much more preferable to her reasons now for trying to avoid bellamy's name. she's surprised when christian himself says it, but if there was any part of her still optimistic enough to consider it a victory, or that had the energy to muster true shock, it quickly gives way to the sadness elicited by the question. it's so tempting to say that octavia's never been this way before, but rose knows in her heart it isn't true. that while they've never found themselves in these exact circumstances, the agony bellamy feels right now is not as unfamiliar as it should be, and what rose feels, he's felt a dozen times. “he has.” it hurts to say it - hurts to think it. “maybe.. maybe not like this, but…” there was a time when she thought she was responsible for their fighting, that she'd been the one to drive a wedge between them, but she knows now that it didn't begin with her. rose shakes her head, unable to really say anymore - both for unwillingness to expose bellamy and because it hurts too much.

when christian asks how she is, her answer comes surprisingly quickly: "scared." scared of what this is doing to the people she loves, scared of what the future will bring, scared for the threat the group poses to lissa and everyone else she loves, scared that she isn't enough to protect them all the way that she wants to - heart, body, or mind, scared that bellamy won't ever smile like that again. the answer doesn't feel so different from christian's, ultimately. it's both because and in spite of her fear that she feels herself treading into territory that may be dangerous. “you know… you know i didn't choose, right? i didn't mean to.. i love you, and i'm not going anywhere. i choose you, i just… choose bellamy too.” before she can lose her nerve to the fear that christian's going to slip back into himself out of her reach, she reaches out to touch his arm. "why.. why do you have to choose? what.. what happens if you don't?"

[tocomefirst]

lingeringscars​:

this is still new. opening the door to her and letting her into the area that feels more full and more like home when she’s standing in it. he’s never felt this way before, and he never thought it’s something he’d be allowed. after everything, he anticipated living the rest of his days in the basement of a church with the person who was supposed to be the love of his life, while rose got married and hopefully got happily ever after. he knew better than to think she was happy in that relationship, but there was a part of him that needed to believe that she was. 

now he features morph into something he thought was long gone: a genuine, soft smile solely reserved for her. she was going on about some food she wanted to try and all he could think is god, i love you. he almost misses what she says because wrapped up in thoughts about how he’s never been this happy or this in love before. “oh?” his hand reaches out to lace through her own, taking her to the couch for better access. “how’s that?”   

whatever she’d been saying before is completely forgotten, the warm look in his eyes taking complete precedence. it isn’t the first time she’s seen it, but she’s no less dazzled by it, every bit of her completely enamored by him. it’s there in her own eyes as he leads her over to the couch, brown eyes bright and filled with adoration as a shy smile forms curves her lips in response to his question. that sheepishness leaves her following movements delicate and languorous, but does not hinder her slow crawl into his lap, cutely curled fingers occupying themselves with his own, playfully passing over the skin there with little rhyme or reason. if anything, the vulnerability called into play by his request for clarification partially drives the movement. 

being close to bellamy makes her brave, but she also just really, really likes it - which kind of makes her brave, too. it doesn’t stop her from teasing him, though, stalling as she considers how to answer.  “hey, they’re your eyes. why don’t you tell me,” rose teases lightly, one of her hands moving up to brush his cheek as she admires them. which is pure self indulgence rather than any kind of postponement tactic, sappy as it makes her. “i love your eyes.” hardly what he’d asked, she knows, but so very true. her fingers become preoccupied with his cheek now, drawing light circles. it helps her focus enough to land on something solid, however flimsy it might feel to bellamy. “i don’t know..” she begins very quietly in that characteristic rose doubting herself kind of way, “..soft. like...” it feels a little too much like putting words in his mouth, saying that when he looks at her like that she gets the distinct impression that he... likes her. is fond of her in a way that maybe should be a given, but rose knows is no small thing. “it’s just.. warm. your eyes.. they’re.. they’re warm all the time, but sometimes they get even warmer, and it just.. makes me feel all.. warm inside.”  before she can wonder if it’s a betrayal, “no one’s.. no one’s ever looked at me like that. and.. it’s nice. it’s.. better than nice. and i… i also just… really like seeing you happy, and.. it.. seems like you are.”  

[factumnihil]

"the trauma made you kind" fuck that. no. i am kind because i cannot allow anyone to go through what i did. i am soft because i chose to be.

[peculiar-persephone]

Trauma made me scared, angry, and vulnerable.

I made myself kind.

[tocomefirst]

@lingeringscars sent: i wouldn't have done it any differently.

it's moments like these rose wonders just how many things bellamy does for her. how often he shields her from something that will sadden her or nudges her toward something that will brighten her day, and even more often is that brightness himself with an inconspicuous comment or touch of a hand, all so subtly she has no cause to notice. when she thinks about it, there has to be a dozen little things bellamy does for her without arousing her suspicion for every one that she notices, and rose notices a lot. keen observation is essential to the role of a guardian, but more than that, rose is just in tune with him. and bellamy has been more intent than ever on doing what he can to ease all of this for her, bending over backwards just to make it even a little less hard.

which means, by rule of bellamy, there are at least a thousand little steps he's taken that she knows nothing about.

a thousand little subtle adjustments he's made just like this one that have escaped her attention. it was mere chance that she recognized this; she was only half watching the game in front of them, focusing more on the warmth and comfort of his arms around her than the roar of football coming from the screen. it took her a second to realize bellamy had muted the channel, and another to realize why. bellamy's response to her saying it hadn't been necessary is expected, and thus brings a small smile as she snuggles closer. she finds herself softly murmuring, "it's not a bad word."

[tocomefirst]

(  christian.  ) 

he can’t remember if his hands shook when she handed him the ring to hide. it should have been an easy task; she closes her eyes and rests while he puts the ring in a secure location. only, she told him that he couldn’t just give the ring back to her good-for-nothing now ex-fiance. she fades in front of him and all he can think is that dimitri cannot take her away while she’s right in front of him. he’s been through that too many times before, and even when they started talking again, she was too far away. present but not enough, weighed down by the ring around her finger. 

it was easy enough deducing that he had to hide the ring in laurel’s room, and only a quick message asking if it was okay if he threw it in one of her drawers ( with the promise that it would be just that, throwing it because he has no interest in looking in her drawers but also knew that rose wouldn’t either ). if rose wanted to get to the ring bad enough, she would raid his room, and the way her body tenses tells him that she may do just that. the words she says are enough to push him into thinking it goes beyond the ring itself. 

memories come flooding back in to remind him that it’s always been this way, but for now they rest in the forefront of his mind. 

he doesn’t remember if his hands shook when she handed him the ring but he knows they don’t know. fear courses through his veins at the tone of her voice, but his hands remain steady when they rest on her arm. “you didn’t want it.” his voice is firm still, not showing that seeing rose like this always sends tension into his chest; not because she’s always so strong ( he knows her well enough to know that can be an act ), partially because she’s letting her defenses down, but mostly because he’s seen rose scared before but never like this. never in a way he couldn’t understand. “you don’t want it.” he once again wants to offer to bring it back for her, but even he can understand how that wouldn’t help. despite his burning desire to protect her in any way he can, despite the fear of her slipping away again…he can understand her wanting to return it herself….he just wishes she would do it now.  

maybe it’s the part of her still working overtime to defend him, maybe her own guilt, but rose can only, “i said yes, christian.” without knowing entirely the reason at first, just that it should mean something. she said yes. she said yes, and she shouldn’t have and that’s her responsibility to bear is the point to be made, perhaps, because if anything, the certainty in christian’s voice drives home a thought she’s had of herself related to cruelty, about the cruelty of living a lie. it’s what she did to dimitri, and she’s begun to realize it’s what he did to tasha. pretended to want a life he didn’t. maybe a part of her thought it’d meant they’d deserved each other, estranged from what they ought to want as they are, as sloppy as they’ve been in looking elsewhere, but she doesn’t think he was so cowardly as to leave clues hoping she’d notice, whisper secrets into the dark hoping he’d hear.

how many times did her throat tighten at the mention of marriage while she looked dimitri’s way hoping he’d see through a smile growing miserably thin?

the question she can’t, won’t ask: how many times did she beg him to hear her saying no?

and yet, painful as it is, it isn’t that thought that leaves her belly-up. “i could have,” she says quietly. “i could’ve married him.” what did it matter, if she was committed to a life with him? what would it have changed? (and yet, it seemed along the lines of absolute, gut wrenching sacrifice. and on the worst days, thievery.) “i mean- it- it was a piece of paper. that was all i had to do.” she’s choked with all that it was, but she’s been rationalizing for so long she’s not sure how to stop. “i mean, wedding rehearsals and flower picking, those are just.. the things you laugh about years later on, right? the things you just push through?” how much was she pushing through? could she have done that for the rest of her life? “but.. he doesn’t like me. he.. he loves me, i know, but.. shouldn’t he like me?”

it’s so honest, so vulnerable, that it leaves her insides jittery. it seems so unfair that she can barely stomach the overwhelming guilt. “maybe if we go watch tv or something.. maybe that’ll help get my mind off of it.” she’s not sure it’ll have any effect at all, but christian wants to help, she knows he does, and there’s no reason both of them should feel like tearing their skin off to get it to stop crawling. the least she can do is help him.

[tocomefirst]

lingeringscars​:

he keeps his eyes on the steering wheel; for what he isn’t sure. maybe he fears that if he looks at her, he’ll see that it’s over in her eyes. they fooled themselves into thinking this would last, but there’s nothing left now because the damn fucking universe said so. fears that adrian was right in his assumption that it’d always come back to this, they’d always be forced back together and for what? some bullshit about matching auras? they’re guardians; they all were raised to think the same way. what he thinks doesn’t matter if deep down that’s what rose feels, though, so he stares at the wheel and curses at himself for letting this happen to him again. curses for the tears pricking at his eyes and the fear tearing a hole in his stomach until there’s nothing else he can focus on except the white of his knuckles to try and draw himself in. 

the car suddenly feels too small. the ceiling too close to his head, the center console restricting his arm movement, his elbow resting against the window not strong enough to break the glass. he considers rolling it down for a moment but the movement would tear his focus away and he’s not sure he can allow that– until she starts speaking. he can’t think of many things worse than her leaving him ( especially for… him ), but the fragility of her voice and the fact that she won’t look at him either nearly breaks him. a part of him starts to think it’s already over because she’s looking at her hands, another tells him she’s probably thinking the same fears as him ( they have a history of that ). he doesn’t know what voice wins when it’s overpowered by love for her and pain over all she’s gone through. ( he doesn’t know which is breaking his heart more ). “and dimitri is that for you?” he’s surprised at the level his voice takes; calm, even, as if he isn’t holding himself together by sheer force of will ( as if the answer won’t leave him broken on the ground of this very car. pieces scattered all around they’d never find them all ). “you didn’t answer my question.” it takes everything in him not to reach out to her, take her hand in his own. he wouldn’t be able to handle it if she pulled it away, wouldn’t be able to move if she opened the car door and got out, but it’d be so much worse if she pulled away to do it. god, there would be nothing worse that that.   

it’s the absence of emotion she hears first, before she can even make out the words, ironic and nonsensical as she barely has the presence of mind to realize that is - hearing the absence of something. but in her experience, there’s nothing louder than absence, and nothing more lethal than silence. it’s been so long since she’s lived that way that she stopped thinking about it, stopped expecting it, stopped wondering when it would start again like it was as inevitable as the sun going down, but the awful tangle of desperation comes back like it were yesterday. the evenness of his voice stirs that terrible urge to dig and beg and cling, and it never seems to matter that she knows that never ends well, that it isn’t going to stop dimitri frrom leaving and will only make him angrier with her, and he’ll be right because she’ll have gotten so desperate for a reaction that she’ll have said something she didn’t mean just to get it and she’ll be just as manipulative and cruel as people have made her out to be. and then she’ll be sorry, so sorry, and that won’t help, either, and it’ll just go on and on. 

but this is bellamy, not dimitri, and she doesn’t know bellamy like this. bellamy is all passion, all warmth and emotion and intensity. he represents that to her, though that’s not to say he can’t be calm; he’s been remarkably steady for her, capable of incredible soothing, provided more security for her than she’s ever felt in her entire life - but this is different than the gentle things he whispers to her when she’s upset, the calm voice he uses to reassure her that everything will be okay and there’s nothing they can’t handle together. he’s felt distant from her before, usually as a result of her own fear, but he never seemed calm in those moments. maybe she’s mistaken the emotion for something else (for anger, for distrust, for longing for escape), but there was never an absence of it. it makes her think he’s either more resigned than she thought, or he’s frozen by fear the way that she is, and probably the same ones. it’s enough that she finally makes out the words, though she can’t for the life of her understand what they mean.  “what? what are you talking about?” she turns toward him now, if only out of complete, utter confusion. “is what for me?” she wracks her brain for an explanation, and ultimately lands on a very puzzled, “the person who..” she’s so scared and upset she can’t even remember what she said, has to search for a long time before she stumbles, “made me want to be better?” with an impressive furrow to her brow. “i didn’t... i didn’t really think you were asking a question. i don’t.. i don’t understand, what are you..”

[tocomefirst]

lingeringscars​:

there’s a part of him that feels blindsided even if it isn’t fair. he went into that conversation knowing that rose needed it and needed support, so that’s what he provided for her. there were pieces of adrian’s side that didn’t fit with the rose he knew or the one that she told him, though. he knows her guilt around the breakup and how it went down, knows that she thinks it wouldn’t have worked out because they didn’t understand each other anyway. yet, there are pieces of the conversation that stick with him. not because he doubts her or doesn’t trust her; there’s nothing that could change that. he trusted her implicitly, but doubt filled his lungs. words about how he and rose were destined to fail because they weren’t meant to be come back to him. words that he brushed off as jealousy and anger originally, now return. 

the ride home was quieter than maybe it usually would be; rose wasn’t the only one mentally recovering from the conversation. his fingers clench the steering wheel when they come to a stop, wondering if he should bring it up. ultimately, he doesn’t know how to get out of the car until he addresses it, even if he doesn’t think it will change anything. “were you really going to break up with adrian by saying you weren’t meant to be?” adrian warned him against dimitri. dimitri said the universe fated them. as much as he wants to say fuck the universe, too many stories about fate are on the tip of his tongue. they should be past this, and he’s never doubted her, but now self-loathing returns with a vengeance to remind him he isn’t good enough for her. “that you cheated on him because he wasn’t the love of your life?”  

the first thing she notices is the stark contrast of the color of his knuckles and the steering wheel, wrapped so tightly around it that the intensity stole pigment from the surrounding skin, maybe not so unlike what she stole from adrian. the observation steals away any remaining warmth she may have had left in her body, little remnants of warmth from where bellamy had touched her, his hands beneath hers as she’d fumbled through her apology to adrian, body curled around her own. what replaces it is the biting realization that she should have noticed sooner - realized the second they got into the car that something was wrong. she’d been too consumed by her own feelings, as usual, she suspects adrian would say all-too-accurately, assumed bellamy was simply giving her time to recuperate from the talk with adrian, but now the shift in atmosphere is so startling that she feels stupid for not picking up on it. and even stupider for not expecting it. for thinking for some reason that bellamy wouldn’t see the truth right in front of him: that he was better than this. 

she’d already had her knees half way pulled up to her chest, but if possible she shrinks into herself more, afraid to look up his arm any farther than his elbow lest she catch a glimpse of adrian in his eye (she can’t remember the last time he looked at her without the betrayal and anger and hurt. maybe one day she will, but that hope for rekindling is gone now, thoughts of what she could gain overpowered by fear of what she might have lost. the thought that one day she might not hurt adrian anymore is everything, but if bellamy slips away...) rose’s gaze drifts down to her arms facing up on her lap, fingers absently tracing the fabric of her sleeve (tracing what she doesn’t need scars to remember: her own nails tearing through her skin just as sharp as any razor.) she has to answer him, but she’s not used to condemnation from bellamy. it’s so startling and chilling that it doesn’t feel like there’s a hole deep enough to burrow into. there’s nothing she can say that will make it sound less cruel or callous, and no explanation anyone wants to hear. “it wasn’t... it wasn’t about that. i didn’t mean..” tears spark in her eyes, that awful, desperate, self-loathing feeling that rears its head whenever she feels like she doesn’t know how to express herself punching through her chest and up her throat. she tries to blink them away as her throat constricts. “it was about him. about me not... being the person that he needed. the person he thought i was,” she finishes with a shaky breath, body ice cold with the thought that bellamy may be having a similar realization. “i couldn’t.. i couldn’t say it the right way, everything got so jumbled up and it came out wrong, but i just.. i just meant that i was the wrong person for him. he.. he wanted to impress me, prove to me that he was.. was worthy. and it never.. it never should have been that way, and that was my fault, but... i just meant that.. the person he loved.. they should make him want to.. to be better.. for himself. i know.. i know it sounded.. horrible. like i was.. like i was trying to blame him, but i didn’t... that wasn’t... i wasn’t.. ” god, there’s little worse than feeling helpless like this. 

[tocomefirst]

@lingeringscars sent: warn a guy before you do a face-plant on the floor next time. i could have looked all heroic and caught you or something.

it isn't just the lack of strength. she'd convinced herself it was that simple - putting meat back on her bones and toning out-of-shape muscles, tuning up worn down parts like you might a car, but it's not just her body that's out of alignment; her mind is fuzzy, too. it's all she can do to sit through classes, but being alone by herself in her room is somehow worse. it's the first time in her life she's ever felt marginally grateful for homework, but between the gaps in foundational knowledge and what seemed a complete inability to focus, it's been next to impossible. lissa had been more than willing to help her, but something about the process was so humiliating she was actually glad when lissa was called away, much as she's found herself wanting to spend every moment with her since she's been back. the thought of pestering alberta into sparring with her had temporarily relieved that, normal enough to leave her downright cheerful, so you can imagine her dismay when she couldn't even get that right.

now, alberta's scolding... that was almost kind of nice, in that blessedly normal, alberta's-been-doing-this-her-entire-life sort of way that made her feel like something resembling a normal high school student. her ass hitting the mat over and over, that was fine, too. but the fog, the jagged sharpness of her nerves, the craving and every so often the shaking.. that was harder. nonetheless, she wants to argue when alberta tells her enough is enough, nearly does until she sees the hand pulling her up isn't alberta's at all. the face on the other end belongs to someone else entirely, with wit altogether different from alberta's dry humor. despite everything she winds up smiling, genuinely pleased as she admires the admittedly a bit fuzzy features looking down on her as he pulls her to her feet. if she's honest, she's surprised to see him - she wouldn't be surprised to hear adrian had never stepped foot in a gym before, unathletic as she knows him to be. but if she's really honest, it's his persistence that surprises her most. she doesn't know what fantasies he has, but she's sure she can't be living up to any of them - least of all soaked in sweat, all the more so given the thick sweater she's wearing to hide the weight and muscle she's lost, and sporting a wide vocabulary of bruises and more jumpy than she'd like (one thing she's sure adrian liked was the confidence, the entertaining back and forth, the challenge, and she's found she spooks pretty easily as of late.)

then again, adrian did say once that he liked sweat. so maybe she's got one thing going for her.

"what are you doing here?" she can't help but ask, but it's a warm kind of question, made warmer still by the smile on her features, breathless and exhausted as it is. "not that i don't appreciate the hand up, but this doesn't really feel like your scene." rich of her, maybe, given that she's not so sure she has one anymore, but the only feasible explanation is that adrian came to see her, and that doesn't seem so feasible at all. it's pointless to consider, and yet a part of her feels warmed by the thought.

[bnmxfld]

Because with the right person, sometimes kissing feels like healing.

Lisa McMann / Gone (via bnmxfld)

[bilosan]

Micki Ramirez in Walker 1x06

[tocomefirst]

outlivespast​. 

his eyes roll the second she speaks; of course she would think that. it makes sense given their history, of course, and he’s a little surprised she isn’t asking if he’s crazy. ( he thinks about her episode on the plane, her and lissa’s anxiety about vlad and anna, and suddenly he thinks she’s more afraid of that word and what it could mean for her ). he expected as much coming back from Lehigh with lissa. she wasn’t stupid, and even without the bond, she probably knew about him teaching lissa fighting moves. with the bond, she knew that they had help. he doesn’t think that’s what she’s thinking about right now though.

the first thing he did when he returned was hug her. it was overdue with her return from wherever she flew off to, and he was worried about her even if his worry for lissa took over. he knew rose could take charge and protect herself, and there was no doubting lissa’s strength…but she wasn’t the lissa he knew anymore. even knowing about avery, it was still hard to forgive her behavior. it was one of his worst fears ( perhaps shallow, but he doesn’t give a damn. lissa becoming one of those royals and losing everything that makes her her… it’s a fear that comes the closer they get to court too. how long until the lissa he loves is gone and what’s left is just the perfect princess they all wanted her to be? she was so much more than that. she was so much better than what they wanted. ). 

he’s getting over it and this trip was one of the first steps. he misses lissa, and with lissa came rose, but they were more than that too. so he hugs her, and then he smacks her arm. 

“look. i like eddie.” he does; it surprises him how quickly he was able to let eddie in. he supposes spokane was bound to do that to them, but it didn’t change what came next. he likes eddie, he and eddie are friends, but he and rose… they’re connected. they don’t need a bond to determine that, and it was starting to feel like it wasn’t just lissa that connected them. “but he never should have been the one to tell me what you guys were up to or why.” he can’t play the boyfriend card right now; maybe lissa should have told him, and he would have expected it if they were together especially since it involves spirit. he knew better, but he thought rose did too. “it was stupid, risky, insane. and just about everything the two of us have gotten into since we started talking.” it hurt. he can’t tell her that in so many words, but it did. rose has known eddie for longer, and his fighting skills would come in handy during a trip like this, but christian didn’t like being on the outside. he didn’t like how easy it seemed that he could be replaced if anything happened between him and lissa. he finally had friends; he didn’t want to lose them if he wasn’t dating her. 

“i get it. why you didn’t tell me. i wouldn’t have gone along with breaking the bastard that tortured lissa out….” maybe he would have, though. if they could save strigoi…. it was crazy but it might have just worked. “not on some baseless theory.” isn’t it all they do, though? spirit was new and every day they learn a new ability that comes with it. he and lissa were also supposed to be at each other’s throats so maybe that didn’t factor into rose’s opinion at all.. he’d like to think it did but he knows better. “i know we’re not.. best friends.” he wouldn’t know what else to call her…she’s just. rose. “and that you’ll have to be on lissa’s side no matter what.” because they were best friends, and that’s what the two of them do. it’s rose and lissa against everyone else, and just because this past year has been different doesn’t change every year it wasn’t. “but i don’t stop caring.” could have fooled them, but he never stopped caring about lissa– even if right now all he’s thinking about is rose. “if lissa and i aren’t together… it doesn’t change you and me. i’m still here for you; i would have gone with you. i wouldn’t tell anyone - i won’t. we’ve been through too much shit for that.” vulnerability is winning, but after spending the weekend with lissa, there’s no other way for him to appear. “i thought you knew that.” 

she’s felt like the ground was shifting beneath her feet ever since her conversation with eddie, moving just slightly every time she thought she might be nearing a solid foothold. if she’s honest, it’s been so long since she’s felt safety that she can barely remember what it feels like - maybe there was a moment with lissa after she’d first returned home, feeling her arms encircle her and thinking she might actually be able to mourn dimitri and move on from what happened in russia, but that disappeared with dimitri’s first letter, and grew fainter and fainter in her memory with each one. pouring everything she had into her mission to save dimitri had given her the illusion of an anchor, something she could cling to that would allow her some fraction of distance from his threats. there was... not stability, but at least something resembling stillness in that, if she focused with enough discipline, some degree of quiet. 

all of that’s gone now. for some of the most horrible days of her life, she feared her friendship with eddie might be gone too. 

their truce should have been enough to console her, but the sense of relief that had overcome her was temporary, easily conceding to the guilt she felt at having gotten him involved in the first place, the weight they’re both carrying over what happened in vegas, what she allowed to happen. that wasn’t something eddie could forgive and forget; even if he’d managed to forgive her, he would carry this on his conscience, and so would she. the weight of the guilt they both feel is nearly crippling, but it does little to stabilize her. instead it only disorients her more, warring with her agony in having failed to save dimitri and desperation to keep lissa safe. hans even took the small relief of a shovel in her hands away, leaving her with nothing but her guilt and grief, the knowledge that dimitri was closing in, and the far from small amount of fear and frustration that came from knowing lissa had ignored her plea that she back down. 

the last thing she expects is for christian’s arms to steady her. ever since she found out he was enabling lissa’s delusion of staking dimitri she’s been stewing, but no shortage of insults and ranting devised in his name minimize the comfort the contact brings, even as she mentally prepares to unleash holy hell on him. the words dry up as her hands instinctively, if sluggishly, move to hug him back, some part of her desperate for the touch of a friend clinging to him without her permission as her shoulders ache under the weight of all that’s happened. for the reassurance that something in all of this has come out unscathed. 

except it hasn’t. it might be the unexpected light smack of his hand across her arm that keeps her from launching into her complaints initially, the stress of it all that leaves her too exhausted for any real push-back, but it’s the vulnerability she can see in christian that keeps her from talking, even when the undertow of desperation she’s felt simmering inside her nearly makes her contradict him when he calls the theory baseless, however sure she is he must put some stock in it if he’s helping lissa - though she guesses he’d welcome any excuse to be around her anyway so long as he could keep his pride and enough distance to protect himself. 

he has no such form of self defense with her, though, and his sincerity touches rose more than she can explain. she’s too tired to banter, and a fight... a fight just might break her, but it seems christian has come to do neither. well, maybe a little of the first, but that’s just what they do. she thinks she sees something hurting in him, something different from the pain she sees in him every time he’s around lissa - and that means what they have has been damaged. and yet, it doesn’t seem beyond repair. a part of her is still knotted up in fear that her relationship with eddie might never be the same, but maybe with christian, things could be.. better. with every hope she’d had crumbling into dust, she needs to hope for something again, and so rose finds herself hoping for that. 

“hey, look, i..”  her throat tightens up, moisture building in her eyes causing them to fall for a moment as she looks for the right words to explain.  “i... i.. didn’t not know, i just... i never thought you would tell anyone. i trust you, it wasn’t.. it wasn’t like that. it’s just... after you and liss...” maybe a part of her did underestimate his devotion to her, but it wasn’t the focus of her thoughts. their heartache and sexual tension was certainly part of it, but maybe it wasn’t all, either.  “maybe i just thought you deserved a break from all of our...”  crazy, she starts to say, but finds herself wincing at the word, unable to follow through. “messes.”  he’d nearly gotten killed trying to save lissa from victor, and then again in spokane, and .. then along came avery. 

she might not have hurt him physically, but rose wouldn’t be surprised to hear christian say she was the worst of the bunch, at least if it had been only his safety at risk. near-death experiences don’t really rank when lined up against heartbreak - rose would know.  “i was trying to protect you. you knowing this.. it’s dangerous.” she shakes her head now, because even she can see it was pointless. christian is smart - he would’ve figured it all out eventually, even without eddie’s help. no matter what he said, he cared enough about lissa to dig until he uncovered the truth, and she’s starting to see that it wasn’t just lissa he cared about, but her, too. “i .. get now that that was dumb. i mean.. you’re you. i should’ve known better than to think... ” rose runs a hand through her hair, taking a deep breath before, “christian... i’m sorry.” a finger absently picks at the opposite hand, further aggravating dry and cracked skin, sections of which had torn and begun to bleed from her hard work in the outdoors. “what you said.. about you and me. me... me too. you and lissa being broken up... it doesn’t change anything for me either. we’re... we’re friends. i care about you. when i was gone...”  somehow, talking about russia is harder than it was upon first returning home, if it were possible. maybe because before she got that first letter, she thought she might get to leave it behind. now it seems closer than ever. she has to take a moment to steel herself before continuing to keep her voice from trembling when she admits, “you were one of the people i missed the most, actually. i’m still.. i’m still here for you, too.”

she lets out a breath. “i’m sorry.. i’m sorry i didn’t tell you.”  she wants to stay here in all this new found progress, and yet her mind drifts as she thinks of the adventures she’d kept from him.  “but vegas.. you should count yourself lucky that you weren’t there.” she looks away again, gaze haunted as she thinks of dimitri and the death he’d caused, once again feels the sensation of dimitri forcing her stake to slip through her fingers with the bone-breaking strength of his grip and chill of his body pressed against hers as his teeth neared her throat.  sees all the bodies he’d left behind.  “it.. it was horrible.” 

[rottingmuse]

As opposed to that quote about “the horrifying ordeal of being known,” do y’all ever feel so positively UNKNOWN and UNSEEN that it frightens you? Like there’s a self that you feel on the inside, and you believe to be “you,” but it seems like nobody else sees that version of you? And they’re interacting with someone that isn’t you but a projection of their experience of you? What’s more, perhaps nobody will ever know your true essence and you will die without ever being fully realized????? I’m only two beers in honestly